


We Say Please

by giraffeter



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bachelorette Party, Cake, Chris Chow best nanny in the world, Getting Together, Inspired by Art, Kidfic, M/M, Parenthood, Post-Divorce, Single Parents, Weddings, bitty is an amazing dad, jack is trying his BEST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 14:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffeter/pseuds/giraffeter
Summary: A year after his divorce, Jack Zimmermann is finally getting the hang of this whole "single parent" thing. When his best friends Shitty and Lardo ask Jack's daughter to be a co-flower-girl in their wedding, Jack meets their friend Bitty - a single dad, just like him. The fact that Bitty is sweet, charming, and cute as a button? That's just icing on the (wedding) cake.Eric "Bitty" Bittle has a thriving bakery and an adorable little girl - too bad he doesn't have much of a social life. All that changes when he meets sexy hockey star Jack Zimmermann. So what if Jack is probably straight? It's just nice to make a friend who understands what Bitty's going through.Can these two single dads overcome heartbreak and find love again?





	We Say Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4rekid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4rekid/gifts).



> Hi everybody!
> 
> This is for the [2019 OMGCP Reverse Bang](Reverse%20Big%20Bang%202019)! Thanks so much to [4redraws](https://4redraws.tumblr.com/) for the gorgeous art - I saw it and was immediately like _that one, I want to write that one_ and I'm so honored to have gotten a chance to. The art is [right here](https://4redraws.tumblr.com/post/185364356831/my-art-for-omgcp-reverse-bang-2019-the-lovely) as well as embedded at the end of the story.

Jack reached awkwardly across his body to pull the door to the diner open with his right hand; his left was tightly clutching Evie’s tiny, wriggling fingers. He glanced up at the clock above the cash register. _Only ten minutes late_ , he thought. _Not bad on Evie Time_.

Shitty was already seated at their usual booth. He waved as they came in. “Eviesaurus Rex!” he cried, sweeping Evie up into his arms. “ _Oof_ , oh my God, you’re getting heavy. Do you eat _rocks_?”

“NO!” Evie giggled. “I eat pancakes!”

Shitty deftly deposited her in her booster seat, then pulled Jack in for a bear hug. “Jack, you beautiful snowplow of a man, how are you this fine morning?” Nobody hugged like Shitty.

“I’m good.” Not for the first time, Jack said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening for Shitty Knight. He’d lost friends since becoming a parent, when his schedule became more restricted and casual weeknight hangouts became a thing of the past; he’d lost another round of friends with the divorce, as it became clear which of “their friends” were really “couple friends” or even just “Camilla’s friends.” Through it all, Shitty had been a constant, making time in his busy schedule to stop by and check in on Jack, gamely changing diapers and drinking a thousand cups of imaginary “princess tea.” On days like today, when an entire weekend of solo parenting stretched in front of Jack like an eternity, their regular Saturday brunches were a welcome bright spot.

They took a minute to get settled. Jack pulled Evie’s magnet blocks out of her hedgehog-shaped backpack. Whoever had invented those deserved a Nobel Prize, as far as Jack was concerned: they were portable, colorful, and reliably kept Evie entertained for the terrible period between arriving at a restaurant and getting some food in her.

“What are you two up to today?” Shitty asked, folding his hands on top of his menu.

“Daddy, I want pancakes,” Evie said. Her blocks made a tiny _clack!_ sound as she stacked them together.

“I know, sweetie, we’ll get you some in a minute,” Jack assured her. “We’re going to the playground after lunch,” he told Shitty, “and then after someone’s N-A-P we might go to the library.”

“ _Daddyyyyy_ …” Evie whined. She had the surly look she only got when she was hungry.

“We have to wait for the person to come so we can tell them what we want,” Jack explained. “Do you want some goldfish crackers while we wait?”

“Yah, yah, yah,” she sang, happily accepting the small snack box of crackers Jack always had on hand in case of emergencies.

“You should say ‘yes please,’ we say please,” Jack said weakly. Evie ignored him, but tucked into her crackers without further complaint. Crisis averted.

Fortunately, their server was already making her way over, and a blessedly short period of time later, they were all tucking into plates of food (a Kid’s Pancake Meal for Evie; poached eggs, wheat toast, and veggie sausage for Jack; huevos rancheros for Shitty).

“So, guess what,” Shitty said, swallowing a bite of black beans.

“What?” Jack asked, a little distractedly. “Evelyn, please use your fork, and not your hand.” Evie looked at him, then picked up another bite of pancake in her hand, placed it on her fork, and then conveyed it into her mouth. Jack looked over at Shitty, whose moustache was quivering in an effort not to laugh. “Good enough,” Jack sighed. “Sorry, what were you going to say?”

Shitty glanced down at the table in an uncharacteristically shy gesture, then back up at Jack. “Lardo asked me to marry her.”

“ _What?_ ” Jack cried. “Oh my God!” He leapt to his feet, hugging Shitty awkwardly over the table. “Congratulations, bro, that’s amazing!”

“Thanks, bro.” Shitty’s eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“When did this happen?”

“Last night. She’s been working on this sculpture for a while, but she didn’t want me to see it, which, sometimes she doesn’t! But then last night, I got home and she was sitting there at the counter with this beautiful little salamander...thing, I can’t really describe it, here, here’s a picture.”

He pulled out his phone and showed Jack a picture of one of Lardo’s intricate, whimsical sculptures, albeit at about ¼ the size they usually were. _Beautiful little salamander thing_ was an apt description. “And it was holding...this,” Shitty added, holding up his left hand to show off the simple silver ring Jack hadn’t previously noticed.

“That’s amazing, dude. Seriously, I’m so happy for you,” Jack said. He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. _Shitty and Lardo!_ Two of his best friends, finally tying the knot.

Shitty grinned back. “Me too! I’m so happy for me, too,” he laughed.

“I’m, I’m, I’m happy for me, too!” Evie declared around a mouthful of pancake.

“Glad to hear it, kiddo.” Shitty ruffled her hair. “Anyway, bro, I wanted to ask you...would you be my best man?”

“Oh…” A warm butterscotch feeling sprang up in Jack’s chest. “I mean, of _course_ I will, if you want me to, but...you don’t have to ask me, just because you were mine.”

“I know that, but like, who else would I ask? You’re my best friend. Well, except for Lardo, but I think she’s busy that day,” Shitty winked.

Jack felt his face grow warm. “I’m not gonna be good at the best man stuff, though. I don’t make good speeches, I’m terrible at throwing parties…” Shitty had thrown him the perfect bachelor party, five years ago: just a few friends, watching movies at his place, incredibly chill. Something told him the same approach would not suffice for Shitty.

Shitty waved a hand. “Ransom and Holster can help with the bachelor party. We’ll probably just do one big party for both of us, anyway, since we’re friends with all the same people. Nah, man, I don’t care about that sh...tuff,” Shitty improvised, with a hasty glance at Evie (who was still shoveling down pancakes in a businesslike manner). “I’m gonna marry Lardo, and there’s literally nobody in the world that I’d rather have standing next to me when I do.”

Jack took a bite of his toast, his eyes suddenly stinging. He knew Shitty was his closest friend, but hell, Shitty had a ton of friends. Shitty became friends with practically everyone he met. There was no reason he should mean as much to Shitty as Shitty meant to him, but somehow, he did. Who would have thought, when he helped a scrawny dude who only spoke in a yell find his pants at a Haus party his freshman year of college (they were in the upstairs bathtub), that he was embarking on one of the most important relationships of his entire life? “OK,” he finally managed to say. “I’d be honored, thanks for asking me.”

“And _you_ , my little pancake fiend,” Shitty said to Evie, who was still absorbed in her pancakes. “Do you want to be the flower girl?”

Evie didn’t respond. She was making the little _um num num_ noises she made when she was eating something of particular interest.

“Evie,” Jack prompted, “Do you want to be the flower girl at your Uncle S and Aunt Lardo’s wedding?”

“Yah,” she said, still not looking up from her pancakes.

Jack couldn’t tell if she was actually responding to the question or just going with the flow. “Do you know what a flower girl is?” he asked her.

“Yah,” she said again, spearing a strawberry with her fork.

“All right then,” Jack laughed, shrugging at Shitty.

“We’re hoping our friend Eric’s daughter will be one, too,” Shitty said. “She’s a few years older, so she can look out for Evie.”

Jack felt that same fool’s grin breaking over his face. “Well,” he replied, “we’ll be there.”

~*~

“So it’s gonna be a pretty small ceremony,” Lardo explained, sipping her wine. “We’re paying for the whole thing ourselves, so it’ll be pretty small, pretty chill, pretty casual.”

“Well, I just think it’s so exciting,” Bitty gushed. “I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

“Thanks, Bits.” Lardo’s eyes were sparkling.

“Look! Lookit!” Bailey cried. She was holding up her Lego figures of Darth Maul and Obi-Wan Kenobi. She began to reenact their lightsaber duel, making a variety of _Kssh! Kzzzh! Zeeeoww!_ sounds as she did so, ending with a climactic “AAAAAaaaaahhh” as Darth Maul fell off the side of the coffee table. She looked up at Lardo with a proud grin.

“Very cool,” Lardo said, holding out a fist for Bailey to bump.

Bitty tried not to grimace. He thought Bailey was _way_ too young for the Star Wars movies, but Derrick had wanted to watch them with her, and what he did at his house on his days with Bailey was his business - never mind that Bitty had had to reassure her that Darth Maul was _only pretend_ about a dozen times in the last week.

“I think it’s amazing that you proposed,” Bitty continued, returning to the matter at hand. “So did you give Shitty a, what, like a ‘man-gagement’ ring?”

“It’s just an engagement ring,” Lardo smirked. “We don’t have to bring gender into this.”

“ _Look!_ ” Bailey insisted. She began to re-enact the lightsaber battle again.

“Anyway, S’ parent’s are low-key mad that we’re not letting them pay for the wedding and invite eight thousand Harvard randos -”

“Daddy,” Bailey sang, “Dad, Dad, Daddy, Daddy, look!”

Bitty shot Lardo an apologetic glance and hunkered down on the carpet, looking into Bailey’s wide brown eyes. “Bug, we are looking, but we’re also going to have a conversation, OK? I want to hear what Lardo is saying.”

Bailey frowned, staring at the carpet. “OK,” she mumbled.

“Just because we’re talking to each other, doesn’t mean we’re not interested in you,” he continued, poking her in the shoulder. “We can do two things at once!” He caught her eye again and gave her a warm smile, waiting for the answering smile to flicker into life on her sweet face.

Lord, he loved that kid. All the headaches and paperwork and the agony of waiting for the adoption agency to match them with someone had been worth it the first moment he and Derrick had held their baby girl in their arms. She was smart and cool and funny, and even though she had a formidable temper ( _can’t imagine where she gets_ that _from_ , his mama had said with a roll of her eyes), she was just as quick to forgive and move on.

Mollified, Bailey returned to her lightsaber battle reenactment. Bitty straightened up, trying to ignore the creak in his knees, and picked up his wine again, sitting back on the couch.

“Anyway,” he said to Lardo, “you were saying?”

“Oh, just that the Knights are throwing us a big fancy engagement party in a couple weeks.” The way Lardo said _big fancy engagement party_ , she might as well have said _pile of dead fish_. “You’re totally invited, but it will probably be adults-only.” She grimaced at Bailey. “This one’s getting off easy.”

“OK, sure, just let me know the dates and I’ll work it out with Derrick, or see if his mom can take her,” Bitty said. “Do you want me to bring anything from the bakery? Cupcakes, or…?”

“Oh, no, thanks, but I’m sure Mrs. Knight is going to have, like, baked Alaska or something ridiculous.”

“Hey now, Miss Duan, you can feel however you want about your future in-laws, but I won’t have you disparaging baked goods in my home. This,” he added, placing a hand over his heart with a dramatic flourish, “is a safe space for pastry.”

“Speaking of which,” Lardo said. “We’re gonna need a cake for this thing. You ever made a wedding cake?”

Bitty sat bolt upright. He could feel his eyes bugging out of his head. “Oh my goodness, do not even joke about that.”

“Not even joking, bro. What’s the point of having a friend who owns a bakery if you can’t commission a wedding cake from there?”

“Well, I...I would be honored to make you and S a wedding cake, honey!” Bitty pulled out his phone and started tapping away in the Notes app. “We could do a nice simple yellow cake with a buttercream icing, or I know y’all aren’t from the south but red velvet cake is always pretty...ooh! Have y’all ever tried my carrot cake? It’s my MooMaw’s recipe and it is _outrageous_ , and a cream cheese frosting holds its shape really well so it’s a good choice if you want some fancy decorations…”

Lardo laughed. “Slow down, there, Cake Boss. Why don’t you send me some flavor ideas and a general price range, and I’ll talk to S and we can figure out what we can do!”

Bitty looked up at her, startled. “A price range? You _hush up_ with that talk, Lardo! I will make this cake as a _gift_ to you, that bakery wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for you two!”

It was true. When he’d met Lardo, they’d both been working at a coffee shop - Lardo slinging lattes as she worked her way through art school, with Bitty whipping up trays of scones and cupcakes and biscotti in the back. When the owner of the shop wanted to retire, Lardo had been the first one to suggest that Bitty try to buy the place from her. Shitty had recruited some students from Harvard Business School to help him draw up a business plan as part of a group project, and had even co-signed the small business loan that allowed Bitty to buy the business. The Sweets’n’Stuff Bakery would probably be a FedEx Office right now, if it weren’t for them.

And, if Bitty was being honest, for Derrick. Bitty felt a familiar twinge, one that had finally started getting softer with age, as he thought about that time in his life. Derrick had been his number-one supporter when he opened his own business, putting in long unpaid hours painting, cleaning, and handing out fliers on top of his work at the publishing agency. Sometimes, it had felt like the two of them were in their own little almond-scented bubble outside of space or time, working together to build Bitty’s dream. Even though their marriage had, ultimately, ended (Bitty refused to say failed, even to himself), he’d always cherish that time.

Lardo’s dark eyes were frank and sympathetic as she peered at him over the top of her wine glass. It takes a true friend to kick your ass into starting your own business, hold your hand while your marriage disintegrated, and then come drink $8 pinot noir on a Thursday night and patiently watch hours of Lego Star Wars Theater, just to see you.

“Why don’t you and S let me know your schedule for the next couple of weeks,” Bitty said briskly, swallowing the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat, “and we’ll set up a time for you to come do a cake tasting. That’s the best part of wedding planning!” It had certainly been Bitty’s favorite part, and never mind what Derrick said, he had absolutely _not_ been “terrifying” to the woman who made their cake. He just had strong opinions about baked goods, that’s all.

“That would be great. I’m sure S will be on board. We may even have to come taste cake two or three times,” Lardo winked. “But, seriously. Thanks, Bits. It means a lot.”

“Well,” he replied, feeling oddly prim. “It would be my honor.”

On the floor, Darth Maul had abandoned his duel with Obi-Wan and was now engaged in hand-to-hoof combat with Rainbow Dash, Bailey’s favorite My Little Pony. _Imaginative play is developmentally important for children her age_ , he told himself. He just wished she could be a little less _bloodthirsty_ with it.

Lardo eased herself down onto the floor and picked up Obi-Wan’s abandoned figurine. “Hey, Bailey-bug,” she said, looking into Bailey’s eyes with an air of the utmost seriousness.

Bailey sat up to attention; she loved Lardo, and Bitty had to believe that at least part of that was the way Lardo always treated her as someone to be taken seriously.

“Do you want to be in Uncle S’ and my wedding?” Lardo asked. Bitty’s breath caught a bit in his chest. He’d never get over the way it made him feel, that the people who loved him loved his child. “You don’t _have_ to be, if you’re not feeling it, but if you want to be, we would really love it if you would be part of it.”

Bailey tipped her head to one side. “What would I have to do?”

“Well, you would walk down the aisle before I do, and you’d have a basket of flowers to carry. Then, if you wanted, you could stand up there with us while we’re getting married, or if you wanted to just go sit with your dad, that would be OK too. And you’d be in some of the pictures. Our friend Jack’s daughter is also going to be a flower girl, but she’s only three years old, so we would really love to have a big kid there to show her what to do and help her out. But if you don’t want to, you could also just come to the party. That is totally cool too.”

“Would I be dressed up all fancy?” Bailey asked.

“It would be nice if you dressed up, but it doesn’t have to be a dress if you’d rather wear some nice pants.”

“Could I wear a _poofy_ dress?” Bailey pressed. Bitty stifled a smile. Her grandmother had bought her a dress for Christmas that had a poofy skirt that flared out when she twirled, and Bitty had been hard pressed not to let her wear that dress to school every day from then to St. Patrick’s Day.

“The _poofiest_ , if that’s what you want. You can help pick it out,” Lardo promised with a twinkle in her eye.

Bailey scrunched up her nose, considering. “Are _you_ going to wear a fancy dress?”

Lardo leaned back against the couch with an air of supreme satisfaction. “You know what, kiddo? I think I just might.”

~*~

The engagement party was held at Shitty’s parents’ club, a tastefully-appointed space on the top floor of a high-rise office building, with sweeping views of the harbor. The decor was beige. The passed hors d'oeuvres were tiny. The music was tinkly and unobtrusive. Even Jack, who was terrible at both planning and attending parties, could tell that this party was horribly dull.

He snagged a glass of sparkling water from a passing tray and surveyed the party grimly, searching for a familiar face. He spotted Shitty in one corner, his hair up in a bun, making pained conversation with an older woman in pearls.

Jack wondered if his best-man duties extended to rescuing Shitty from awkward conversations with family members; he decided they probably did. He was just starting to head in Shitty’s direction when a hand descended on a shoulder with a hearty slap. “Holy shit, are you Jack Zimmermann?” It was a question that would usually make Jack cringe and want to hide, but not when it was delivered in the highly recognizable foghorn voice of Adam Birkholtz.

He turned, already grinning, to see the welcome faces of his friends. Holster was clutching a plate full of crab cakes in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other; his tie looked like it had been tied by a family of confused but well-meaning squirrels. Ransom was wearing an impeccable salmon-colored button-down with a matching striped tie, and a comically besotted expression.

“Oh em gee, you _are_ Jack Zimmermann!” Ransom squealed, fluttering his eyelashes.

“A real NHL star, right here at our friends’ engagement party,” Holster blared.

“Mr. Two-Time Stanley Cup winner!”

“Mr. Hat Trick Against the Rangers Last Week, don’t think we didn’t see that.”

“Mr. fucking Single Dad of the Year over here, crushing it.”

Jack ducked his head, feeling the color rise to his cheeks. He loved Holster and Ransom, but people were starting to stare. “Thanks, guys.”

“BRO.” Holster’s grin was practically splitting his face in two. “Bring it in.”

There was the requisite amount of hugging and back-slapping. He got to see Ransom and Holster a fair amount, since they were both just an hour away in Boston, but it still felt like too long since the last time he’d seen them. Jack could feel something essential in him starting to rise and expand, the way it always did when he was around the people he could truly consider His People.

“So,” Ransom said after a few minutes of catching up. “This party is...um...taking place.”

“Yes, it is,” Holster agreed. “This party is definitely a thing that is happening right now.”

“It’s not… _that_ bad?” Jack ventured. He spotted Lardo across the room, surrounded by chattering men in suits. Her tattoos were covered with a prim little cardigan, and she had changed her part to comb her hair over the shaved portion of her head, and none of those changes made her look any less like she was about to cut somebody.

“Yes it is, _mon ami_ ,” Ransom said. “It’s getting dangerous in here. It is one hundred percent possible to die of boredom. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

“We’re going to have to make sure the bachelor party is extra epic to make up for this snoozefest,” Holster intoned solemnly.

“Oh, yeah, speaking of which, do we need to coordinate on, um, groomsperson stuff?” Jack asked.

“I mean, I _guess_ ,” said Ransom. “Shitty mentioned you might want help with the party.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “I’m not exactly up on Providence nightlife these days. If it’s not happening on Daniel Tiger or SportsCenter, I don’t know about it.”

“Because you were such a fixture of the scene _before_ you had a kid,” Holster chirped, elbowing him.

Jack laughed. “Fair.”

“Well, leave it to us, we will happily be your cruise directors for all wedding-related debauchery and shenanigans,” Ransom said. Holster held out a fist, and Ransom bumped it without even looking at him. “Now all we have to do is find a bar that will make us some green tub juice.”

“Great.” Jack’s stomach lurched at the very thought, but if staring down the barrel of their 30s hadn’t put Ransom and Holster off of tub juice yet, it was their funeral. “What else?”

“I think that’s the main thing, honestly,” Holster admitted. “Other than that, I guess just whatever help with, like, planning and logistics he and Lardo need.”

“You might need to take the lead on that, since you’re local,” Ransom pointed out, “but we’ll help where we can.”

Jack’s stomach tightened slightly at the words _planning and logistics_. He had hated planning his own wedding, all the choices and lists and spreadsheets, everyone looking to him to make decisions about things he barely understood, the constant feeling that he was going to let everyone down if he chose the wrong thing.

It was easy, now, in hindsight, to look back at the months leading up to their wedding and see the seeds of the unsolvable conflicts that would eventually break them apart: the unspoken expectations Camilla didn’t know how to express and he didn’t know how to meet, the conversations neither of them had any idea how to have. But he thinks about how he’d _felt_ that day, underneath the nerves and the everyone’s-looking-at-us weirdness of cutting the cake and dancing with his mother; he remembers Camilla laughing, looking up at him from the circle of his arms, and feeling an all-consuming delight. Nothing that happened afterward could cast a shadow on that one perfect moment. Without meaning to, he sighed heavily.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry if all this wedding stuff is...you know...weird for you,” Ransom said, awkwardly patting his shoulder.

“I can see how it might be hard,” Holster added. “We can talk about something else.”

Jack realized that both of his friends were peering at him with concern. He mentally shook himself. “Thanks, guys. I’m OK. It’s just weird to think about.”

“All the ‘til death do us part’ stuff?” Holster asked.

“Not even that. I’m really happy for Shitty and Lardo. And Camilla and I are cool, y’know? Like, even though it sucks, I think we both agree that it was the right call. It’s just…” Jack sighed again, searching for a way to put what he was feeling into words. “I guess...I thought I was done. It’s hard to think about all this wedding planning stuff again, knowing that sometimes it just…” He gestured helplessly. “...Doesn’t work out.”

“I get that,” Holster murmured. He gave Jack another pat on the shoulder.

“But this isn’t about me,” Jack added quickly, before their little group could get too maudlin. “It’s about Shitty and Lardo, and right now, it’s about us rescuing them from this party before they start smashing stuff.”

“Word. Let’s blaze a trail,” Ransom said, putting on a decent facsimile of his game face. Jack had to imagine he had fewer uses for an intimidating D-man glare in his medical practice than he had back in college, but it still proved effective; the three of them cut through the crowd like a knife through butter.

“Well, it’s _her name_ , I can see why she’d have some opinions about hanging onto it,” Shitty was explaining to his father through a gritted-teeth smile as they approached. His eyes landed on the three of them, and immediately his smile melted into something more genuine. “Hey guys! How’s it hangin’?”

Jack hugged Shitty, then offered his hand to Shitty’s father. “Mr. Knight, nice to see you.”

“Hello, Jack,” Mr. Knight said stiffly, his lips pursing into a tight little smile, giving Jack’s hand a perfunctory shake. “So glad you could make it.”

 _Sure you are_ , Jack thought. Shitty’s parents had never made a secret of how much they disliked Jack. No matter how many championships Jack won, or how many PSAs he did for Partnership for Drug-Free Kids; no matter that he hadn’t had anything stronger than the occasional beer or glass of wine since he was 20 years old. To the Knights, Jack would always be the Canadian dirtbag who washed out of the Q and didn’t have the good taste to keep his stint in rehab out of the papers. Which was fine with Jack, since as far as he was concerned, the Knights would always be the people whose kind, loyal, passionate son was the best person Jack had ever met, and somehow not enough for them.

He placed a hand protectively on Shitty’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind,” he said, flashing his most PR-friendly smile, “We need to borrow this guy for a minute.”

“Groomsmen stuff,” Ransom said over his shoulder as they ushered Shitty away. “You understand.”

“Thanks, pals,” Shitty breathed fervently as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’m trying to keep it together for my mom, but… _hrrrrgggrarbbl_ ,” he groaned, swiping one hand down his face. “I fucking hate that guy.”

Holster flagged down a server who was passing with a tray of champagne flutes. “Hey man, do you think the groom here could get, like, a whiskey ginger?”

“ _Anyway_.” Shitty shook himself off like a wet dog. “My dudes, my bros, my most favoritest of guys. This party aside, my wedding is going to be amazing.”

“Hells yeah it is.” Holster saluted him with his glass.

“Oh, hey, Jack.” Shitty accepted a highball glass from their returning server, slipping the guy a tip and a grateful look. “You should meet our friend Eric Bittle while you’re here, his daughter is going to be co-flower-girls with Evie.”

“No _wayyyyy_ , that’s gonna be cute as _hell!_ ” Ransom enthused.

“I think I saw him here earlier,” Shitty said, scanning the crowd. “Oh, yep! He’s over there with Lardo.”

Jack turned and looked over to where Shitty was pointing. Lardo, looking more relaxed than she had earlier, was chatting with a young blond man in a sharply-tailored blazer and a red bow tie. As Jack watched, Lardo gestured toward them; the guy - Eric - turned and looked Jack’s way, flashing a pair of warm brown eyes. Seeing Jack looking, his lips quirked up in a hesitant smile.

Jack felt his stomach give a tiny _hop_. This could be a problem.

~*~

Bitty was awash in a sea of Chanel No. 5 and Aqua Velva, the cloying scents dizzying him a little after a day spent inhaling nothing but yeast and sugar and cinnamon. He tried to focus on what Lardo was saying.

“...And they keep acting like it’s _cute_ that Shitty wants to help plan our wedding, like ‘oh, he wants to come look at venues with you, what a _catch_ ,’ like he should get a trophy or something just for showing up,” Lardo groused.

“Honey, I feel you. You should try planning a wedding with no bride at all, my family didn’t even know who to be condescending _to_.”

Lardo sighed. “Thanks for letting me vent a little bit, sorry to monopolize the conversation. Are you having fun?”

Bitty hesitated. “Well…”

“I know. This blows.”

“At least these shrimp puffs are…” but Bitty can’t lie about pastry, even to soothe Lardo’s feelings. “No. I’m sorry. They’re dry.”

Lardo puffed out some air, blowing her bangs out of her face. “Do you think anyone would mind if I took off my shoes?”

“If anyone does, I will personally fight them for you.”

“You’re a gentleman and a scholar, Bitty.”

“I do what I can.”

Lardo craned her neck, looking through the crowd. “I wanted you to meet Jack, Evie’s dad. He’s probably doing some sort of best man duties, though.” She stepped out of her black pumps with a sigh of relief. “My sister didn’t even _come_ tonight, can you believe that? Some Maid of Honor she is, abandoning me in my hour of need. She was like, ‘ _fuck_ no, white people are canceled.’” Lardo grinned to herself. “I love her.”

Bitty grimaced. “She’s not wrong.”

“But yeah, sorry, anyway, you should totally meet Jack!”

“He’s the hockey guy, right?” Bitty had heard Jack’s name come up on several occasions, but hadn’t ever actually met the guy.

“Yeah,” Lardo laughed. “He is, as you say, ‘the hockey guy.’ He played with Shitty and Ransom and Holster in college, and now he plays for the Falcs.”

Bitty felt a flutter of nervousness. “Oh my goodness, he’s like, a real live celebrity.”

Lardo rolled her eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t say that to _him_. Oh, he’s over there with Shits.” She gestured over Bitty’s shoulder.

Bitty turned to look. He saw Shitty standing with Ransom and Holster and had time to think _honestly, who dresses Holster_ , before the man Shitty had been talking to turned around.

He was tall, not as tall as Holster but plenty tall, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Even from across the room, Bitty could see the athletic physique hiding under his suit jacket, but it was his face that was truly arresting: high cheekbones, a square jaw, and a shy, uncertain look that made Bitty want to throw his arms around him. Bitty smiled at him, tentatively, and after staring for a moment, Jack smiled back, closed-lipped, a little crooked.

“Wow,” Bitty murmured, not even realizing he’d spoken out loud.

“I know,” Lardo said from over his shoulder, startling him. “He’s nice, too. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

“BITTY!” Shitty shouted as they approached. “How’s the Prince of Pies?”

“I’m good, thanks - _oof_ ,” Bitty squeaked out as Shitty clapped him on the back.

Shitty turned to Jack. “Jack, this is Eric Bittle, delight of my eyes, joy of my heart, baker of my wedding cake. Bitty, this is Jack Zimmermann, best man of my wedding and also in the world.”

Bitty let his hand be engulfed by Jack’s, noting that his palms were callused, but his nails were neat and square and well-kept. _Someone’s been teaching this man to moisturize, and they’re doing the Lord’s work_ , he thought. Straight boys’ hands were usually so _dry_.

“Nice to meet you, Eric.” Jack’s voice was soft and rich, a marked contrast from the barely-restrained shouting that was Shitty and Holster’s main mode of conversation.

“Oh, please, call me Bitty, everyone calls me Bitty,” Bitty replied. Was his voice weirdly high? His voice sounded weirdly high.

“Bitty has, like, the best bakery,” Ransom said.

“Seriously, so good,” added Holster. “He does these chocolate raspberry cupcakes that are just -” He kissed his fingers. “To _die_ for.”

“Well thank you, Adam, that’s very sweet,” Bitty said, trying to keep his voice under control, aware of Jack’s gaze. He could feel his face heating, and as usual cursed his super-fair skin that showed every emotion plain as day.

“That sounds great,” Jack said. “I don’t get to eat a lot of cupcakes, team diet’s pretty strict, but my daughter loves them.”

 _Daughters. Right_. That was why they were supposed to be talking to each other. Gratefully, Bitty let himself sink into Parent Small Talk. “How old is your kiddo?”

“She’s three.” Jack shook his head, smiling a bit ruefully. “She is very, very three.”

“Oh Lord, I remember that age, everything is a nonstop contest of wills.”

“Exactly! We can barely leave the house.” Jack chuckled. “Shitty said your daughter was, what, five? Six?”

“She just turned six. She’s in pre-K now, which I kind of can’t believe, like _what is time_?”

“I know, it’s wild how fast it goes.”

“It’s especially weird, since I personally am the exact same age I was when she was born.” Bitty tossed his head in an exaggeratedly vain gesture.

Jack held his eyes. “I bet you are.”

It wasn’t _flirting_ , surely, to enjoy a conversation with someone and want to make them laugh. And even if Bitty _was_ flirting a bit, what of it? He could have an interesting chat with a handsome man any time he wanted, even if that man wasn’t into men himself. No harm, no foul.

“Is...what’s your daughter’s name?” Bitty asked into the fathomless ocean of Jack’s eyes.

“Evelyn,” Jack said. “We call her Evie.”

“Is Evie looking forward to being a flower girl?”

Jack looked around, and Bitty realized with a start that at some point, the rest of the group had drifted away from the conversation.

“To be honest,” Jack said, lowering his voice and glancing over at where Shitty and Lardo were posing for pictures with the patience of martyrs, “I have no idea if she knows what a flower girl even is or does. I’ve tried to talk to her about it, but...who knows.”

“Oh yeah,” Bitty commisserated. “At that age, you won’t really know if she’s going to participate in the ceremony until it’s happening. Or, _not_ happening, as the case may be.”

Jack hummed an acknowledgement, still staring pensively over at Shitty and Lardo.

“Bailey - that’s my kid - is _really_ excited about the whole flower girl thing. She loves younger kids, too, so I bet she’ll be down to show Evie the ropes.”

Jack turned back to him, looking sheepish. “Thanks. It can be a challenge, wrangling her. She listens better to my ex than she does to me.”

 _My ex_. “That’s right,” Bitty said, trying for a casual air he didn’t totally feel. “Lardo mentioned you’re a single parent, too.” He laid just the slightest bit of emphasis on the word _too_ , as though by stressing a single syllable he could somehow stretch it to mean _let’s be friends, please be my friend, I don’t know any other single dads, also maybe you could just come to my house and I could stare at your face sometimes?_

“Yeah.” Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. Bitty briefly wondered if he’d struck a sore spot, but Jack didn’t seem angry, just kind of wistful. “You know, when Evie was born, I kept thinking, ‘I don’t know how single parents do it.’ Now I _am_ a single parent, and I _still_ don’t know.”

“Well, let me know if you figure it out,” Bitty said, laughing a little. “I guess you won’t have to let me know, because if you can figure it out, I can read all about it in your bestselling book while you retire to the Bahamas.”

“That makes me feel a little better, thanks.” Jack pushed his hair off of his forehead. Bitty recognized the bone-tired look on Jack’s face from all the times he’d seen it in the mirror.

“How long have you and your ex been...separated?” Bitty asked, aware that he was dancing around a sensitive subject.

“About a year. You?”

Bitty did the math. “Almost...three years, wow.”

“You must have gotten married really young!” Jack blurted out. His cheeks pinkened. “I mean...sorry, that’s…”

Bitty could have stood there watching him blush and stammer all day, but took pity. “Well, thank you, Mister Zimmermann, sometimes I feel about a hundred years old, so it’s nice to know I haven’t lost my youthful charm.” He smiled, and felt a tiny thrill at the answering smile on Jack’s face. “Yeah, we were super young when we got married. I think that’s part of what happened, really. We were just...too young.”

When he’d met Derrick, hearing his accent had felt like coming home (although Derrick had liked to joke that his Birmingham accent was more ‘cosmopolitan’ than Bitty’s rural Georgia drawl). They’d had an instant connection, two Southern boys in the frozen North. Bitty knew that being young and gay in the South was nothing compared to being young, gay, and Black in the South; even so, they’d faced some of the same hardships growing up, and it created a bond. They were both super-close with their mamas, both obsessed with pop music, both struggling to stay focused on their studies while out on their own for the first time.

It had taken a while - years, really - for Bitty to understand that it’s not necessarily a great idea to marry someone _just like you_. When they were good, they were really, really good - but when they were bad, they were bad in the exact same way, and neither of them knew how to help the other one over their shit. In the end, growing up had meant growing apart.

“There’s a big difference between twenty and twenty-six, you know?” he explained to Jack.

“I do know,” Jack agreed. “Does she still live in the area? Your ex, I mean.”

“ _He_ , actually, and yeah, he does, he and I split custody 50-50,” Bitty breezed, as though it was no big deal, even though he was pretty sure he’d never fully lose the Georgia-born jolt of apprehension that burst through him every time he told someone about himself, no matter how many years he’d been out and proud.

Jack winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Don’t worry about it, it happens all the time,” Bitty said with a wave of his hand.

“Thanks, but I should really know better. Shitty would be disappointed in me.” The faintest crease had appeared between Jack’s eyebrows.

“Well, I won’t tell Shitty if you won’t.” _He really is very sweet_ , Bitty thought. _It would be nice, having a dad friend_. He mustered up his courage and just asked the question. “Listen, do you want to set up a playdate for the girls sometime soon? Might be good for them to get to know each other outside of all the wedding stuff.”

The frown cleared from Jack’s brow immediately. “Oh, yeah, I’d love that!”

“We could meet up at a park somewhere, or y’all could come to our place, Lord knows we are _swimming in toys_ ,” Bitty said. “We’re usually available anytime after about 4:30 on weekdays.”

“Awesome.” Jack pulled out his phone. “Let me look at my calendar. My ex has Evie this coming week, but how about...next Tuesday?”

“Great! Give me your number and I’ll text you the address.” They exchanged numbers. _I made a parent friend!_ Bitty told himself exultantly. _I made a playdate! I am not a total failure at facilitating my child’s social life!_

 _Just my own_. Best not to think about how the first time he’d gotten a cute guy’s number in over a year was strictly parenting-related. _Focus on the positive, Eric_.

~*~

Jack managed to arrive at Bitty’s house only 20 minutes after the time he and Bitty had agreed on, already feeling like he’d run a marathon. Evie hadn’t wanted to wear her shoes. Or a coat. Or pants. She had wanted to stop and chat or sing a song on each and every one of the 12 steps leading from Jack’s condo building to the sidewalk. She had wanted to listen to the _Moana_ soundtrack in the car, and then hadn’t wanted to get _out_ of the car. At this point, Jack was hoping that Bailey was one hell of a fun kid, because he had sold the _We’re going to our new friend Bailey’s house to play! It’s gonna be so fun!_ angle pretty hard to get her out of the car.

They were here now, though, knocking on the door of a slim olive-colored townhouse in Wayland Square, and Evie had lost the tyrannical set to her tiny chin as they approached; now, she was clinging to Jack’s leg with the koala-bear grip she developed in new or uncertain situations.

Bitty opened the door, flushed and a little out of breath. “Hey, y’all!”

“Hey,” Jack said, feeling a little flushed himself. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh honestly, I’m so glad y’all were, it gave me a chance to make the place presentable.” He called over his shoulder. “Bailey! Evie and her dad are here to play! Please come in,” he added, opening the door.

Jack started to step over the threshold, but Evie stood rooted to the spot, her cornflower-blue eyes enormous in her tiny face. “It’s all right, sweetie,” he encouraged her.

Bitty squatted down in front of Evie, looking into her eyes. “Hi, Evie.” His voice was friendly but gentle. “My name is Bitty. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Evie shoved one dimpled pink hand into her mouth. She made a faint sound around it that might have been “Hi.”

“I’m really glad you’re here, because Bailey is so excited to play with you. She’s got all her dinosaurs out, in the living room. Do you like dinosaurs?”

“Yah,” she said around her mouthful of fingers, relaxing her grip on Jack’s pant leg slightly.

“Well, let’s go see if we can find them!” Bitty stood and offered his hand to her, tossing Jack a wink over her head. “You bring your daddy, and we’ll all go into the living room to find some dinosaurs.”

Evie hesitated for a moment, and then plopped her slobbery little hand directly into Bitty’s. Jack cringed inwardly, but Bitty accepted it her hand with poise and ushered her into the living room, where an enticing collection of plastic, rubber, and stuffed dinosaurs were all lined up. “Ah!” Evie crowed, and was soon busily rearranging the dinos to her liking.

Bitty made sure she was settled, and then made his way back over to where Jack was leaning in the doorway. “Hi,” he laughed, wiping his hand on his jeans.

“Hi,” Jack replied, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upward. “Euh, sorry about the...slobber.”

“Comes with the territory.”

Up close, Jack could see that Bitty’s nose and cheeks were dusted with pale golden freckles, just a shade darker than his skin. He swallowed hard, scrambling to think of something to say. “That was a good call with the toys, she loves dinosaurs.”

“All kids love dinosaurs,” Bitty pointed out. “Dinosaurs are cool! Excuse me for a moment. _Bailey Jade!_ ” he called up the stairs. “Come say hi to our friends, please! She just got a new book,” he explained.

“No worries,” Jack settled into the overstuffed red couch, taking in the photos, the knick-knacks, the art on the walls. He spotted a painting that was almost certainly Lardo’s, and a whole wall of crayon, marker, and watercolor masterpieces, each with “Bailey” written in uneven capitals in the corner. Here and there were framed photos of Bitty and a small Black girl: giggling at the beach, covered in flour at a kitchen counter, grinning cheesily in a selfie, Bitty looking down a tiny blanketed bundle with an awestruck expression.

A thundering sound came from upstairs. Bitty shot Jack a wry look as Bailey clattered down the stairs at top speed, bouncing to a halt in front of Jack. “Hi,” she said breathlessly. She was wearing a t-shirt that said _RAD!_ in hot pink letters, and her hair was done up in two little puffs at the top of her head, held in place by matching hot pink barrettes.

“Honey, remember we talked about using walking feet on the stairs?” Bitty asked.

Bailey ignored him and stared at Jack. She rocked back and forth slightly. She was probably a normally-sized six-year-old, but to Jack, she seemed huge; she was rangy, all arms and legs. _Was Evie really going to double in size in the next three years?_ Bailey’s deep brown eyes seemed to scrutinize his every fault. “Do you know my Aunt Lardo?” she said suddenly.

“Euh...yes I do,” Jack said, resisting the urge to fidget.

“Remember, bug, Jack is Evie’s dad, and Evie’s gonna be a flower girl with you in Aunt Lardo’s wedding?” Bitty pointed over to the other end of the room, where Evie was now bustling back and forth, moving all the dinosaurs from one end of the room to the other. “Why don’t you go tell Evie about your dinosaurs? I’m sure she’d like to hear about them.”

“Aww, she’s so _cute!_ ” Bailey said, as though she was a small adult discussing a young child with her fellow adults. She wandered over to Evie. “Hi! My name is Bailey!”

Evie looked up from the triceratops she was clutching. “Hi,” she said, glancing over to make sure Jack was still close by. He waved encouragingly.

Bailey plopped down on the carpet next to Evie, crossing her skinny legs. “Do you know what kind of dinosaur that is?”

“A fryceratops!” Evie beamed, sticking her little round belly out self-importantly.

“That’s right, a triceratops! Wow, you know a lot of stuff,” Bailey said. Evie stared at her open-mouthed, with something akin to awe. “How about this one?” Bailey held up a spiky plastic critter that Jack, dredging his memories of childhood trips to the Museum of Archaeology and History, tentatively identified as an ankylosaurus.

“Umm...this one is called a...hat dinosaur!” Evie exclaimed. Bailey laughed, and placed the dinosaur on Evie’s head.

Satisfied that the kids weren’t about to kill each other, Jack turned to Bitty, trying to think of something to say. Bitty was wearing an olive-green sleeveless t-shirt with the logo of a local brewery on it. His arms were lean and wiry, marked here and there with burn scars, some old, some fresh; he had a gorgeous, lovingly rendered tattoo of a bee on one shoulder, which only served to emphasize the definition of the lean muscles in his arms. Jack noticed that the tops of Bitty’s shoulders were sprinkled with the same pale-gold freckles as his face. He realized that he was maybe staring at Bitty’s arms a little too intensely, and also that he still hadn’t said anything. “I, euh, like your tattoo,” he stammered.

“Oh, thank you!” Bitty looked down at it, smiling. “I wanted to get a B for Bailey, and then I was worried that people would think it was a B for Bitty, or Bittle, and then I thought what if it was also B for Beyoncé, and I don’t know if you know this about me, but I am a _huge_ Beyoncé fan, so I thought I’d get a bee, the insect, instead, and that way it can be B for Bailey and B for Beyhive. Sorry, I’m rambling,” he said, his cheeks going a soft rose.

“No, it’s fine,” Jack assured him. _Your accent is adorable_. “So...where are you from?”

Bitty told him about growing up in Georgia, and about moving to Providence to go to culinary school, and about opening the bakery. Jack told him about growing up in Montréal, touched lightly on his career in the Q (without delving into the whole overdosed-on-pills-and-washed-out-of-the-draft thing, if Bitty wanted that story he could just Google it), and about playing for the Falconers.

“Daddy,” Bailey interrupted them. “Can I play some music?”

“Can I play some music _please_ , and go ahead, bug, the iPod’s plugged in.” Bitty gestured over to a battered old iPod wrapped in a heavy-duty protective cover. Bailey fiddled with it, and soon the sounds of “Eight Days a Week” drifted out of the stereo.

“She is in such a Beatles phase right now. I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later, ‘Beatles’ is right next to ‘Beyoncé’ in her music library.” Bitty chuckled. His nose turned up just the slightest bit at the end, like an elf or a pixie or someone who needed to be kissed on the nose as frequently as possible. “So what’s it like, being a hockey player?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know, I’ve never really been anything else.” Bitty didn’t say anything, which Jack figured meant he was supposed to keep talking. “It’s...lots of travel. That’s a lot harder, now, being away from Evie. Her mom’s been great about scheduling visits around it.” Maybe he shouldn’t be talking about his ex. Although, why not? It wasn’t like this was a _date_.

“I bet you get to go to a lot of cool places, though!” Bitty pointed out.

“Oh, I guess. A lot of time I really only see the locker room and my hotel room.” Another pause. _How do people find so much to talk about when they talk about their jobs?_ “I love hockey, it’s just...I don’t know. Not that interesting.”

The song was drawing to a close. Jack was trying to remember which song came next on this album, when Bailey popped up and ran over to the iPod at top speed. A moment later, “Eight Days a Week” started playing again.

Bitty leaned his head back onto the sofa and groaned. “Can we listen to a different song, please, honey? We already heard this one.”

“But this one is good!” Bailey protested.

“Yes, it is, but we already heard it. Maybe we can listen to another Beatles song? How about ‘Can’t Buy Me Love?’ You like that one, don’t you?”

“But this song is the _best one!_ ”

A tiny hand came up and tugged on Jack’s sleeve. Startled, he turned to see Evie standing at his elbow. “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

He checked his phone, surprised to see that it was almost 6 pm already. He’d have to move fast if he wanted to get Evie home and eating dinner before she had a total meltdown from hanger.

Bailey left off arguing with her father and instead rearranged her features into a pleading, puppy-dog look. “Can Evie stay and have dinner with us?”

“Is that how we ask for things?” Bitty asked.

“ _Pleeeeeaaaase_?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, we’ll have to ask Evie’s dad.” Bitty turned to him, raising an inquiring eyebrow. “Would y’all like to stay for dinner?”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m sure you didn’t plan for -”

“We’d love to have you. It’s just gonna be spaghetti, but there’s loads. Does Evie like spaghetti?”

Jack thought about the last time Evie had eaten spaghetti. She’d managed to get it in her eyebrows. But then he glanced back over at Bitty’s warm, inviting smile.

“OK, thank you. But euh...can we borrow a bib?”

~*~

After they had dined on spaghetti and salad (Jack ate his salad with _no dressing_ , which was the saddest thing Bitty had ever seen and a solid advertisement for _not_ going pro in any sport), and Jack had given Evie a thorough wipedown with a series of wet paper towels, the girls settled in to watch _Lilo & Stitch_ (except for the first 10 minutes, which Evie apparently found too scary) in the den. Jack and Bitty settled back down onto the living room couch, from which they had a straight line of sight into the den where the girls were sitting. Bitty’d had to rearrange his entire house to get that working, but it was worth it to be able to read or pay bills or, miracle of miracles, have a _conversation_ with someone while Bailey watched a movie once in a while.

“They’re getting along well,” Jack remarked.

“You sound surprised,” Bitty laughed.

Jack shrugged, which seemed to be his default mode of communication. “I wasn’t sure Bailey would want to play with a kid so much younger.”

“Oh, she loves younger kids.” Bitty settled back down into the couch, tucking a bare foot underneath him. He’d been impressed with Bailey today, as well - she’d been very generous about Evie playing with her dinosaurs, and had even let Evie be T. Rex for a while, as long as she performed to Bailey’s specifications. “To be honest,” he confessed, thinking about Bailey ordering Evie around, “I think she mostly just likes to be in charge.”

Jack smiled that sweet little crooked smile. He was _awfully_ cute, Bitty thought, and he seemed utterly devoted to his daughter. He certainly didn’t _say_ much, but Bitty had always been enough of a chatterbox to hold up his end of a conversation and then some. It wasn’t just Jack’s smile, or his patience with Evie, or his frankly _outrageous_ ass, which was so hot that Bitty felt personally attacked by it. It was the way he seemed a little bewildered, a little lost, and a lot tired. He looked the way Bitty felt.

“I’m glad y’all could come over,” Bitty said. “If nothing else, it’s nice to have another person around to keep Bailey entertained.”

Jack’s blue eyes flew up to his, surprised. “I was just thinking the same thing. About Evie, I mean. I love her, but…” he shook his head.

“...It’s a lot,” Bitty offered.

“It’s _so much_ ,” Jack agreed. He slumped back into the couch cushions, looking drained.

Hesitantly, Bitty ventured, “When I don’t have her, when she’s at her pop’s, I miss her so much. But it is...nice, sometimes, to get a break.”

Jack nodded. “A break.” He huffed a mirthless laugh, staring up at the ceiling. “God, is that horrible?”

“I don’t think so,” Bitty said slowly. When he felt that way, it certainly seemed horrible, but hearing Jack talk about it, it just seemed _human_. “I think it’s...normal.”

“Really?” Jack looked so hopeful, Bitty just wanted to push his dark hair off his forehead and make him some cookies.

“Lord, I hope so.”

They sat in silence for a bit, looking over at where the kids were cuddled up with a hand-picked selection from Bailey’s veritable army of stuffed animals.

“Do you…?” Jack asked, and then seemed to stop himself.

“Do I what?” Bitty didn’t put a hand on his shoulder, but it was a near thing.

“Do you ever feel guilty?”

Bitty couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him. “Are you kidding? I have felt guilty every minute of every day for the last six years.”

“Oh my God, really?” The relief transformed Jack’s face.

Bitty felt something unclenching in him that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding tight. “I feel guilty when I’m with her, and I feel tired or frustrated, and I’m not, like, _cherishing the moments_ , you know?” Jack nodded. “And I feel guilty when I’m _not_ with her, like I’m missing out on her life, like I’m letting her down.”

“Me too,” Jack said softly.

Bitty didn’t tell him about the myriad other ways he felt guilty on a daily basis.

He felt guilty when he thought about his employees, and how he’d had to change things at the bakery since becoming a single dad; he couldn’t be there as often as he wanted to be, and he knew they sometimes felt the lack of direction.

He felt guilty when he saw Derrick’s mama. Warm, funny, practical Paula Thomas had been a mainstay of Bitty’s life for most of the time he’d been in Providence. He’d spent Christmases and Thanksgivings and countless Sunday dinners at her table, and always been welcomed like a member of her family. She was the closest person to his own mama that he’d ever met, and it still felt like a betrayal of her that he and Derrick had chosen to break up their little chunk of her family.

He felt guilty when he thought about Bailey’s birth mother, who had really wanted Bailey to have at least one Black parent, not to be raised by well-meaning white people who wouldn’t know how to prepare her for the world she’d have to live in. He knew that no matter how much he tried to be mindful of his own privilege when he was with her, and to try to unpack the messages about race that Bailey might receive from the media she consumed in his house, it was a part of her heritage that he’d never share, and he couldn’t help feeling that he’d failed Bailey’s birth mother by divorcing Derrick. It was his biggest regret, when it came to the divorce.

But none of these were things he could say to a relative stranger, even one with soft blue eyes and a sad smile. “I think guilt is just part of the deal,” he said instead.

“I thought it was just me,” Jack said. With what appeared to be a great deal of effort, he added, “I don’t really know that many other parents.”

Bitty’s heart leaped in his chest. _Let’s be friends! Let’s be single dad friends!_ he wanted to blurt out. “Me either. It’s hard to meet people, when you’re taking care of a kiddo and working full time.”

“Yeah.”

“I tried to go to a couple parenting groups, but they seemed pretty mom-focused.”

“I’ve been too intimidated to even try,” Jack confessed.

There was a long, awkward silence. Ukulele music drifted softly in from the other room. Bitty screwed up his courage. “Well...now you know another parent, and it seems like the girls get along. So...we should do another playdate sometime!” His voice was bright and casual, with no hint of the inward cringe that accompanied the words.

Jack smiled. “That would be great.”

When the movie wrapped up, Jack scooped up a mostly-sleeping Evie from the couch. “Thank you for having Evie over to play today, Bailey,” he said, and heaven save Bitty from a man with _manners_.

“‘Welcome,” Bailey mumbled, retreating into shyness as she often did when she was getting tired.

Bitty escorted them to the door. “Thanks so much for coming!”

“Thanks for having us,” Jack said. “Next time, we can host.”

 _Next time_ , Bitty’s heart sang. “All right, you got yourself a deal. Come by the bakery any time and I’ll hook you up with some C-O-O-K-I-E-S,” Bitty spelled, with a glance toward Evie’s not-totally-asleep form in Jack’s arms.

“She would love that. I might have to pass, I don’t get to eat many complex carbs, but we’ll definitely come by.”

“I don’t know how you do it, I practically _live_ on complex carbs,” Bitty chattered, feeling suddenly, unaccountably nervous. “I just graze on day-olds all day long. I think I just sweat it all off, working in front of a hot oven all day.” _OH MY GOD, Eric, stop talking_. He could feel himself blushing.

Jack stared at him. Bitty was sure he was thinking _this guy is such a weirdo_ , but there was something in Jack’s inscrutable gaze that made Bitty feel warm all over.

“Well, anyway...g’night,” Bitty finished weakly.

“Good night,” Jack said as Bitty closed the door, his voice low and rough on the evening air.

 

~*~

Helping Shitty plan his wedding was a lot more fun than planning his own wedding had been, Jack decided. For one thing, he had a lot fewer responsibilities; for another, he did not give one flying fuck if the bride’s or groom’s family was upset by something he did, which was refreshing. His most important duty appeared to be talking Shitty and Lardo down from various interactions with their respective parents.

Ransom and Holster were chock full of ideas for what they were calling the “bachelor/ette party.” Jack said a private prayer of thanks that he wasn’t friends with guys who would automatically go the “stripper” route. The few times Jack had let his teammates drag him out to a strip club while they were on the road, he’d been an odd mixture of bored and incredibly uncomfortable. He didn’t even like it when the Mariachi band came over to his table in a Mexican restaurant; having to awkwardly interact with a total stranger was his nightmare even when said stranger _wasn’t_ draped half-naked in his lap. He’d finally been able to convince his teammates that “introverted married dad who doesn’t drink” was not a great target for a strip club buddy, and bow out. He tried to imagine Shitty in a similar situation, and kept picturing him asking the the women at the club about what their health insurance and benefits packages were like, and if they’d ever considered unionizing.

So far, he’d managed to steer Ransom and Holster away from “toga” as a party theme, and get them to return the 20-foot inflatable unicorn pool float, which (as Jack pointed out) no bar in the world was going to let them bring in. He was feeling pretty good, overall, about his best-man prowess. He’d even spent a highly enjoyable afternoon with Shitty getting fitted for suits (not tuxes, Shitty was adamant on that point), and had successfully slipped the tailor his AmEx while Shitty was distracted picking out pocket squares. Shitty had protested that he and Lardo were paying for this thing themselves, and Jack didn’t need to get him a present on top of everything else he was doing, but no amount of objection could hide the gleam in Shitty’s eye when he tried on his perfectly-fitted midnight-blue suit.

Jack even found himself looking forward to taking Evie to try on flower girl dresses. He knew all too well that shopping with a three-year-old was a risky proposition, but Bitty and Bailey would be there, and he was hopeful that their presence would help a lot. He and Evie had been on several more playdates with Bitty and Bailey, at Jack’s condo, at Bitty’s townhouse, and, as the weather got warmer, at a local park. As far as Evie was concerned, Bailey’s status as a “big kid” cemented her position as the coolest person Evie had ever seen or met. They’d had a meltdown or two, mostly related to sharing (or total lack thereof), but Jack had heard Evie boastfully mentioning Bailey’s name in conversation the way someone might name-drop a celebrity acquaintance.

Jack found himself looking forward to those playdates more and more, and not just because Evie was having so much fun. He’d never had an outlet, besides Camilla, to talk about parenting before. Having someone to admit his struggles to, to confess his fears and share his triumphs, was making a world of difference to Jack’s peace of mind. Being able to ask Bitty, “Evie did (insert weird thing here), is that normal?” and have Bitty say “Oh my goodness, Bailey did the same thing at that age!” was so much more comforting than trying to Google it and ending up drawn into the toxic waters of Parenting Internet.

Over time, they’d gradually started talking about things besides their kids. Bitty didn’t know much about hockey, but he knew a surprising amount about skating - apparently he’d been a competitive figure skater in high school - and they’d grown up following many of the same athletes’ careers. Through a remark here and an aside there, he built a picture of Bitty: the hard-working son of an easily-disappointed father; a transplant from a different place, who’d struggled to put down roots; someone who’d bet deeply on enduring love and been disappointed. It was a picture Jack could relate to.

So all in all, it was with a great deal of enthusiasm and optimism that Jack rolled up to the bridal shop with Evie in tow. An afternoon trying on pretty things with his beloved daughter, his longtime close friend Lardo, and his new friends Bitty and Bailey: what could be better?

Lardo rushed to greet them at the door, smiling a big, cheery smile. Jack noticed with alarm that the whites were completely visible on all sides of her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaimed, pulling Jack into a hug. “ _I’m about to burn this motherfucker down_ ,” she hissed in his ear.

“What? What’s - oh.”

Shitty’s mother bustled her way out of the back of the shop. “Larissa, we still need to make a decision about the bridesmaids dresses, I really think the daffodil - oh, hello, Jack.” She pursed her lips into a vinegary smile.

“Hello, Mrs. Knight,” Jack replied, squirming. Lardo gave him another bug-eyed rictus grin.

“And who is _this_ sweet little _cupcake_?” Mrs. Knight cooed, her voice climbing about an octave. She stooped and fluttered her fingers at Evie. “HELLO, sugar! How are YOU today?”

Evie wrapped one arm around Jack’s leg, regarding Mrs. Knight with mistrust. Jack would never understand why some people felt like they needed to _shout_ at small children.

“Euh, this is my daughter, Evelyn,” Jack said. “Evie, this is Mrs. Knight.”

If anything, Evie’s look of suspicion intensified.

Lardo took a knee in front of Evie. “I’m glad you’re here, Evie,” she said, her voice almost pointedly soft compared to Mrs. Knight’s. “I need some help picking out dresses.”

Even the charms of her Aunt Lardo couldn’t tempt Evie away from Jack’s leg. Sighing, he shuffle-walked toward the back of the store, Evie clinging like a tiny blonde limpet every step of the way.

“So now we’re just waiting on our other flower girl?” Mrs. Knight said brightly.

“Um, yeah.” Lardo pulled out her phone. “Bitty just texted, they’re parking.”

While Lardo tried to tempt Evie with a variety of adorable little gowns, Jack made awkward small talk with Mrs. Knight. Yes, the weather had been unseasonably warm for that time of year. No, he didn’t get down to Boston often. Yes, he was still playing for “the hockey team.” No, he didn’t think Lardo should get hair extensions for the wedding. By the time Bitty breezed in, Jack had almost entirely exhausted his reserves of small talk topics and of patience with Shitty’s mom, neither of which were that deep to begin with.

Bitty waltzed in like he owned the place, Bailey trailing behind him, daintily carrying a fluffy stuffed cat that, Jack realized, was somehow also a purse. “Hi y’all! I’m so sorry we’re late, I always forget how hard it is to find parking down here!”

Lardo stepped forward to give Bitty a squeeze. “This is our friend Eric Bittle,” she said tightly to Mrs. Knight, “and this is Bailey Thomas-Bittle.”

“Oh, it is such a pleasure to _meet_ you!” Bitty gushed, taking Mrs. Knight’s hand in both of his. “I’m such a big fan of your son, and I can see where he gets all that amazing _hair!_ ”

Mrs. Knight patted her carefully-styled coif, looking startled, but pleased. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Eric,” she purred. “And it’s nice to meet YOU, Bailey!” she squealed in Bailey’s face in that same sugar-sweet voice she’d used on Evie. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Six,” Bailey said in tones of withering disdain.

“Look, Evie, Bailey and her dad are here,” Jack murmured. Evie was gazing around the store with an interested air, and had made a couple of investigative motions toward the pile of flower-girl dresses Lardo had been tempting her with. Jack figured he had another five minutes before she forgot both her shyness and her father entirely.

“Well!” Mrs. Knight said cheerily, addressing Jack and Bitty. “Let me show you the dresses we were thinking of.”

“Oh, the girls are going to pick their own dresses!” Lardo trilled, matching Mrs. Knight’s fake cheer note for note.

Mrs. Knight made a genteel _tsk_ ing sound. “Oh dear, but what if they don’t want the same one?”

Lardo’s voice stayed pleasant, but her hands were clenching into fists. “Then...that won’t matter at _all_?”

Jack felt like he should step in, but he had no idea what to say. He was ready to have Lardo’s back, though, if someone could just...make it clear what that entailed.

“I think it will just be _darling_ , and that different-dresses-in-the-same-color look is so _chic_ right now,” Bitty exclaimed. Was it Jack’s imagination, or had Bitty’s Southern accent gotten more pronounced? “Now, have _you_ already found a dress?” Bitty asked, threading his arm through Mrs. Knight’s.

Within minutes, Bitty had drawn Shitty’s mom deep into a conversation about mother-of-the-groom fashion - and deep into another corner of the shop. Jack had never really seen her without the thin lines of disapproval framing her mouth. She smiled, and for a moment she looked exactly like Shitty. It was uncanny.

Jack stared after them, blinking.

“Everything OK?” Lardo asked.

“That was...amazing,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“Yeah, that’s our Bitty, five foot six of Southern hospitality. Don’t mistake him, though, he’d definitely cut somebody if the situation called for it.”

This was high praise from Lardo. Jack wrenched his eyes away from Bitty to see Lardo regarding him with a thoughtful look.

“Um, Aunt Lardo?” Bailey piped up. “Can we look at dresses now?”

“Please, we say please,” Jack said automatically, before realizing with horror that he’d just corrected another person’s kid. He didn’t know much about the etiquette of interacting with other kids, but he’d been to enough playgrounds to know that correcting a kid that wasn’t his was a big no-no. He turned to Bailey, eyes wide, flushing, but Bailey didn’t seem to care.

“Please?” Bailey said, doing a little wiggle of excitement. Jack exhaled a sigh of relief, thankful Bitty hadn’t overheard that little interaction.

“Yes, absolutely.” Lardo siezed a frothy white confection from the pile. “I have found the perfect dress for...Jack,” she announced.

“For me?” Jack took the dress from her and held it up against his frame. The entire thing was shorter than his torso. He was pretty sure he could get one arm into it, if he tried, but that was it.

“What do you think, friends?” Lardo asked. “Is that a good dress for him?”

“ _Noooooo!_ ” Evie and Bailey chorused, giggling in delight.

“Oh no?” Lardo blinked in exaggerated dismay. “Are you sure?”

“That dress is too _small_ for him,” Bailey pointed out.

“Oh, _well_ , in that case, maybe you two know someone who might like to try it on? And maybe…” Lardo darted out an arm and grabbed another dress, this one a shiny satin, “ _this_ one?”

Evie and Bailey followed Lardo into the dressing room, still laughing uproariously.

Jack spent the next half hour watching the cutest fashion show he’d ever seen, and being periodically festooned with sparkly headbands, fake flowers, several veils, and whatever other accessories the two diminutive fashion models could find in the shop. The salesperson allowed this with an indulgent smile, which let Jack know he must look absolutely ridiculous, but the girls were having so much fun, dissolving into giggles with each new accessory they piled on him.

In the end, Evie settled on a sleeveless dress with a tulle skirt, while Bailey chose a dress of old-fashioned eyelet lace. Both dresses had matching blue sashes, and full skirts that flared out to a satisfying extent when the girls twirled.

He glanced over at Bitty, who was now showing Mrs. Knight pictures of wedding cakes on his phone. Bitty caught his eye and grinned, flashing him a thumbs-up.

If Jack blushed, at least no one could see it behind the stylish birdcage veil he was currently sporting.

~*~

One of the most unexpected hard things about the divorce was giving up opening the bakery every day.

He and Derrick had gotten into a nice little groove. Bitty would get up at 3 AM to start the day’s baked goods at 4; Derrick would get up with Bailey and get her out the door to daycare in the morning; Bitty would leave the bakery in the early afternoon, pick Bailey up from daycare, and be with her until Derrick got home. Then they’d make dinner, handle bath time and bedtime, and spend a precious hour or two together until Bitty had to fall into bed.

On Derrick’s days with Bailey, Bitty still tried to take as many opening shifts as he could. He never felt confident about the day unless he’d been the one to get the first pans of scones, muffins, and cinnamon rolls underway. On the days when he had Bailey, though, Bitty’d had no choice but to let one of his employees start the morning bakes. No matter how many times Shitty had told him _delegation is a leadership skill_ , Bitty couldn’t shake his anxiety at the loss of control.

Not that he was sorry to get to sleep in (until _six-thirty in the morning_ , y’all!) and spend the morning helping Bailey get dressed, eat breakfast, and get out the door. He knew that doing morning drop-off at school was good for him, and for Bailey too, because it gave him more of a chance to get to know her teachers and her friends. Still, it was a constant, unpleasant reminder of the sacrifices he’d had to make since he and Derrick split.

This morning, Derek Nurse (who everyone had taken to calling “Nursey” when he first started, to avoid confusion with Bitty’s at-the-time husband) had taken the opening shift, and when Bitty burst in the door at 7:45, the place was already hopping with morning commuters looking for a caffeine and sugar fix. “Good morning!” Nurse called over his shoulder. He was wrist-deep in a mound of yeasty dough.

“Morning, Nurse. Is that brioche?” Bitty asked. His eyes darted around the kitchen, noting what was in the oven, what they were running low on, which supplies might not last until their next delivery.

“Yeah.” Nursey’s dark curls were held back by a green bandanna this morning. He had a smudge of flour on his nose, which Lardo always called a _Hollywood look_. “I wanted to get a head start on buns for lunch.”

“BLAKE!” a deep voice bellowed from the front of the store. “Twelve-ounce Americano for BLAKE!”

“Is Dex on the till this morning?” Bitty sighed.

Nurse grinned, plopping the ball of dough into a greased-up bowl. “It’s Monday, my dude.”

Bitty made his way out into the front of the store, where William “Dex” Poindexter, the other reliable member of his opening crew, was simultaneously taking orders, making change, and operating the espresso machine. “Good morning, Dex!” Bitty sang, affecting a chipper attitude he didn’t totally feel.

“Oh, hey Bitty,” Dex replied, knocking out an espresso shot with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. “We’re almost out of cinnamon, so Nurse put cardamom in the last batch of rolls instead. I told him he should wait and ask you, but…” he scowled into the milk steamer. “He didn’t.”

Bitty remembered his days as a baker/barista; he knew how hard it was to balance a service-industry job with the rest of your life, and he didn’t expect anyone to show the same devotion to the bakery that he did. Still, it was hard not to get frustrated when his staff no-call no-showed on days they were supposed to be working, or quit with no advance notice, or embroiled themselves in elaborate emotional dramas with each other that Bitty then had to sort out.

Dex and Nurse had been two of his earliest employees, and the only two from that initial crop of staff who had stuck around. At this point, it was clear they loved the bakery almost as much as Bitty did. They made Bitty feel like John Cusack in _High Fidelity_ : “I can't fire them. I hired these guys for three days a week and they just started showing up, every day. That was four years ago.”

Nursey had his own ideas about baking, and he and Bitty didn’t always see eye-to-eye on how _avant-garde_ the bakery should try to be, but he had a deft touch with a yeast dough, never overworked his pie crust, and hadn’t once complained about the promotion that gave him half of Bitty’s 4-AM starts.

Dex, meanwhile, had optimized just about every process Sweets’n’Stuff had. He was the one who had sat Bitty down and made him purchase more up-to-date POS software; he had rearranged the kitchen so there was somehow almost twice as much room for supplies; when Bitty had been worried they couldn’t afford a new espresso machine, Dex had come in on his day off with a toolbox and had somehow made their existing model stop burning every fifth shot.

The two of them were the bakery’s lifeblood, which was why it was a shame they got along so terribly. If there was a method of Nurse’s to find fault with, Dex would find it; if there was a seemingly-innocent activity that was also perfectly tailored to get under Dex’ skin, it would somehow become Nurse’s new favorite quirk. Privately, Bitty often tried to Inception the thought _just ask each other out already_ into their minds, but as their boss, he wasn’t about to get involved. After about a year of mediating their squabbles, Bitty had capitulated and rearranged the schedule so that Dex and Nurse rarely worked together, and never alone. The one exception, unfortunately, was Monday mornings.

“You want The Beast or the till?” Bitty asked Dex. They’d nicknamed the espresso machine The Beast after Dex had worked whatever unholy magicks he’d worked to keep it alive.

Dex opted for The Beast. Bitty breathed an internal sigh of relief; he’d rather his Monday-morning regulars get a dose of Southern charm instead of a blast of Northeastern crankiness, but didn’t want to rob Dex of an opportunity to work on his customer service skills if he was feeling like flexing them.

The day passed in a blur, as Mondays tended to do. Bitty sent Dex to the store for some emergency cinnamon to hold them over until their wholesale grocery delivery. Nursey knocked a batch of cherry almond scones off of the counter right before they were supposed to go into the oven, but made up for it by busting out some bacon-and-gruyere galettes right before the lunch rush. By the time Shitty and Lardo arrived for their cake tasting, Bitty had only burned himself once and they had already sold out of half the case.

“All righty,” Bitty sang, carrying the platters of cake and frosting out to their table. “Let’s taste some cakes, y’all!”

“I’m so fucking hyped for this,” Shitty exclaimed, eyeing the selection of cakes hungrily.

“Well, I should hope so!” Bitty handed them each a fork. “Now, here’s how this is gonna go. On the right-hand side, here, we have the different flavors of cake that I typically do, since y’all didn’t have a custom flavor in mind. We’ve got almond, red velvet, carrot, chocolate, vanilla, peanut butter, banana, pink champagne, and coconut.”

Lardo’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Shitty, but I might have to marry Bitty instead of you.”

“Get in line, girl.” Shitty rubbed his hands together and gave Bitty a lascivious wink.

“Oh, you shush.” Bitty loved his friends, but this was serious business. “Now pay attention, because this is important. On the left-hand side, here, are the different frostings and fillings I can do. For frostings we’ve got vanilla buttercream, cream cheese, chocolate ganache, and coconut. I can do _some_ other flavors of buttercream, if y’all want, like lemon or white chocolate, so just ask. For a filling on your layer cake, I can do any of the frostings, or we also have our house-made strawberry jam and apricot jam.”

“You can put _jam_ in a _cake_?” Shitty squealed.

“Shitty, no offense, but get on my level.” Honestly, who did Shitty Knight think he was dealing with? “So just start tasting, and try different cakes with different frostings, and tell me what y’all are thinking, and then we can chat about design and all.”

Shitty and Lardo set to with gusto, and Bitty started jotting down notes as they discussed different flavor combinations. “Oh my God, Bitty, this banana cake is _unreal_ ,” Lardo mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs.

“Pro tip, try it with the chocolate ganache,” Bitty said. “That happens to be the favorite flavor combo of one Bailey Jade Thomas-Bittle.”

“A child of discerning tastes if ever there was one,” Shitty said, swooping a bite of cake through the ganache and into his mouth. “Holy _shit_ that’s good.”

“Yeah, but is banana going to be too...I don’t know, _specialized_?” Lardo asked. “I could see banana not being everyone’s bag.”

“Why don’t we write that one down as a possible option, and come back to it once y’all have had a chance to try everything,” Bitty said smoothly.

Shitty took a swig from his water bottle and picked up his fork with an air of renewed purpose. “So Bits, you’re coming to this bachelor/ette party, right?”

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it! Derrick’s out of town that weekend, so Jack’s nanny said he’d watch both the girls.”

They’d been over to Jack’s condo a couple of times now, and while Bailey claimed that all of Evie’s toys were “for babies,” she didn’t object to Evie’s darling little toy kitchen or her extensive collection of wooden food. The two had a thriving pretend restaurant/bakery going, although Bitty had noticed they somehow never got to the part where their pretend bakery’s property taxes were due the same week as payroll and they had to max out their pretend small business line of credit.

While the girls played, Bitty and Jack talked. A lot of the time, it was mostly Bitty talking, but Jack never seemed to mind that. Being with Jack never made Bitty feel like he was too _much_ , like some people did; Jack was a good listener and, when he did talk, was thoughtful and kind and generous - offering up his nanny to watch both girls so Bitty could go to the party was the kind of gesture Jack made without even thinking about it.

“It’s gonna be fun on a bun,” Shitty promised.

“So I hear! Jack said Ransom and Holster had quite the shindig planned.” Bitty smiled fondly, remembering their last conversation about it. Jack clearly loved Ransom and Holster, but couldn’t quite disguise his terror of the “epic night” they’d promised to deliver, poor soul. Having partied with Shitty, Ransom, and Holster a time or two in his youth, Bitty could see his point - if Jack could keep the groom from being arrested for indecent exposure a week before the wedding, Bitty would consider it a job well done.

“A bunch of bridesmaids and other peeps are getting ready at our place beforehand, you’re welcome to join if you want,” Lardo offered.

“Oh thanks, that’s sweet! I’ll have to see about timing, I was planning on getting ready before dropping Bailey off at Jack’s.”

“Take a Lyft,” Shitty suggested, heedless of the crumbs in his mustache. “Safety first.”

“Not a bad idea, although I don’t know how schwasted I plan on getting. Much as it pains me to admit it, I am not as young as I used to be. Besides, someone’s gotta stay at least half sober to give Jack some moral support.”

Shitty and Lardo exchanged a look. Bitty realized, with a trickle of embarrassment, that he was maybe bringing Jack up more than he should.

Lardo arched one elegant eyebrow in Bitty’s direction. “So, you and Jack have been hanging out a lot lately, huh?” She took another bite of cake. “Ummmf, Shitty, try the almond cake with the apricot jam.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess we have.” Bitty took longer than was strictly necessary to write _almond w/apr filling?_ in his notebook, avoiding Lardo’s gaze. “The girls have a blast together, you should see Evie following Bailey around like a little baby duck, Bailey just _eats up_ the attention.”

“Mm hmm, that’s great. And, you know, we love Jack.”

“A prince among men,” Shitty declared. “A bro among bros. A magnificent Canadian nerd with an ass that just won’t quit.”

“Word,” Lardo nodded, forking a raisin out of the carrot cake.

“Yeah!” Bitty felt the blood rising into his ears. “He’s really…” _Sweet. Sexy. Kind. A big ol’ jock who has no issue letting his little girl bedeck him with glittery flowers, and also apparently no idea how rare that is._ And none of that mattered, because Jack wasn’t interested in Bitty, and Bitty wasn’t planning on jeopardizing his only dad friendship over a silly crush. “...nice,” he finished feebly.

“Yes, he is very nice,” Lardo said, with her kindest _I’m not falling for your shit for one second_ smile.

“And, you know, it’s so hard, as a parent, to, you know, meet other parents,” he added hastily. “It’s just been really great to get to know another single dad.”

“Totally,” Shitty nodded.

“He seems to really dote on Evie, it’s very sweet.”

Shitty snorted. “Just the latest in a string of little blondes wrapping him around their finger.”

“Shitty!” Lardo exclaimed, but she was laughing.

“Well, it’s true. The man is a _fool_ for blondes, and always has been.” Shitty wiped the corners of his mouth daintily with a napkin.

Bitty did _not_ reach a hand up to run through his own hair. Bitty was a _professional_ , conducting _business_.

“At least with Evie, he can just tell her he loves her, instead of just kind of…” Lardo waved a hand. “...Having feelings at her from the corner, like he usually does with people he’s into.”

“Strong point,” Shitty agreed. “That kid is lucky she was ever conceived, Jack is _impossible_ with people once he decides he likes them.”

“So!” Bitty sang, trying desperately to return to the matter at hand. “What do you think about the cake?”

“I feel like we have to have a jam filling, just based on Shitty’s reaction,” Lardo said.

“What can I say?” Shitty waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’m a jam-lovin’ man.”

“So I would be leaning toward either the almond cake with the apricot filling, or the peanut butter cake with the strawberry filling.”

“Peanut butter jelly time, peanut butter jelly time!” Shitty sang, swiveling back and forth and waving his arms.

Lardo peered into his face. “Babe? Do you want the cake, or did you just want to sing the song?”

“Oh, sorry, I want the cake.”

“I could do a peanut butter ganache with that, or just a simple buttercream,” Bitty suggested.

Lardo tilted her head, thinking. “How about the buttercream, just so it’s not, like, peanut on peanut?”

“ _Peanut butter jelly time_ ,” Shitty whispered.

Bitty paused, pen poised above his notepad. “Now, are y’all sure there aren’t any peanut allergies among your guests?”

“FUCK! No,” Lardo admitted.

“In that case…” Bitty darted a worried glance at Shitty. “...Maybe the almond with the apricot would be better?”

“Or the banana with chocolate,” Shitty suggested, abandoning his dancing as quickly as he’d abandoned the cake idea. “Or that carrot cake was amazeballs.”

Lardo covered her eyes with her hands. “Uugggghhh, I can’t deciiiiide.”

“What if we did a small layer cake with the almond and apricot, with just, like, a vanilla buttercream, and then we could do some cupcakes with the banana-chocolate and the carrot cake with cream cheese?” Bitty mentally thanked his Past Self for buying that new set of cupcake-sized icing tips last month.

“Bitty, you magnificent bastard, you’ve _done it again_!” Shitty yelled.

“Will that be too much work for you?” Lardo asked, twisting her ring around her finger. “Doing three kinds, instead of one?”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’m happy to do it. I can always rope Jack into helping me get everything down to the venue.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was mentioning Jack _again._ _Smooth_.

Lardo smiled at him, shaking her head. “Yes, Jack certainly is helpful.”

~*~

Jack pulled the blue shirt off over his head and reconsidered the black one. The blue one brought out his eyes, according to Camilla, but he had bought it a couple years ago when he was bulking up more for the season; as he’d gotten older, his trainers had recommended staying a little leaner to keep the stress on his knees down, and now the blue shirt was a little baggy. The black shirt was a more recent purchase, and fit him better, but it was otherwise just a nondescript black button-down shirt.

Unlike his mother, who was prone to breezing into town, buying him a bunch of things, and breezing back out again, Camilla had made it clear when they started living together that she wasn’t going to be picking out his clothes for him. “But,” she’d said with an air of great magnanimity, “I _will_ help you learn how to pick out your _own_ clothes,” and now Jack felt reasonably competent dressing himself. He knew none of the outfits he was considering would look _bad_ , exactly, but he wanted to do better than _not bad_. This was Shitty and Lardo’s bachelor/ette party, and he knew everyone else was going to be putting in some extra effort tonight.

And, of course, Bitty was going to be there. Jack knew he shouldn’t really care about dressing up for Bitty, who had seen Jack in sweatpants and a Samwell Men’s Hockey t-shirt after a yogurt-throwing tantrum from Evie, but he couldn’t help it.

It took a lot for Jack to even _notice_ that someone was attractive, and when he did, the realization was more apt to make him clam up and run for the hills than anything else. Bitty was different, though; he was so warm and genuine, Jack immediately felt at ease around him. The fact that he smelled like cinnamon, and had perfectly-toned arms, and that his eyes were a deep, melting brown but his eyelashes were gold, was...well, apparently not _entirely_ beside the point, Jack had to be honest with himself, but there was more to it than that. Even though he knew that Bitty just saw him as a friend, Jack still found himself wanting to put a bit more effort into his appearance when he saw him.

Maybe he _should_ try the blue shirt again. With a sigh, he went to consult the only people that were available for him to consult.

Evie and her nanny were in Evie’s room, playing “tall tower,” which consisted of gathering up all of Evie’s blocks, books, and any other square or square-ish toys to try to make the tallest tower possible. Evie never tired of it - in fact, Jack was starting to suspect that she enjoyed yelling “OH NOOOOO!” and the ensuing _crash_ when the tower inevitably fell over than she did actually building the tower itself.

He stood in the doorway, holding the two shirts. “Hey, gang.”

Chowder, Evie’s nanny, looked up from where he was balancing a plastic school bus on top of a stack of Duplo blocks. “Hey Jack!” he grinned, showing off a mouthful of braces.

With Jack’s travel and game schedule, a traditional day care was never going to have worked for Evie; when Camilla went back to work after she was born, they’d both agreed that a nanny made more sense, both financially and in terms of flexibility. He and Camilla had spent hours poring over research, interviewing candidates, checking references, but even with all that hard work, he still felt like they’d won the lottery when they found Christopher Chow (who Evie had started calling “Chowder” practically as soon as she could talk - Jack blamed her mother’s Boston roots for that one). Patient, enthusiastic, endlessly cheerful, and a hockey fan to boot, Chowder had become a fixture in all of their lives, and now that Evie was shuttling back and forth between two houses, Chowder was a welcome constant. Jack tried not to think about the fact that at some point, Chowder would graduate from school and they’d have to figure something else out.

“Sharks game tonight?” Jack asked. He knew the answer - unlike the Falconers, the Sharks had made it to the postseason this year, and they had a game at 10 - but he also knew that the fastest way to Chowder’s heart was to ask him about his favorite hockey team.

“Yeah!” Chowder beamed. “I set your DVR to record it in case I need to pause and check on the girls, I hope that’s OK.”

When Chowder had first started nannying for them, Jack and Camilla used to privately ask each other if the kid only owned two t-shirts. They found out later that Chowder hadn’t wanted to show up to his first day working for the Falconers captain in head-to-toe Sharks regalia, and barely owned anything else. That hesitation was long gone, judging by Chowder’s current ensemble.

This is what his life had come to, Jack realized. Chowder was wearing a Sharks t-shirt, hoodie, and baseball cap, and jeans with holes in them; Evie had picked out her own outfit that morning, and was sporting a pink ballerina skirt over camo-print leggings, and a neon-yellow t-shirt with Lightning McQueen from _Cars_ on it. And he was about to ask them for fashion advice.

“Which shirt do you think?” he asked, holding them both up.

Chowder’s eyes grew large and panicky. “Oh, ummmmm….?” he drew the sound out as long as possible, as if to say _is this question going to be on the final?_

Evie tucked in her chin and regarded Jack seriously. “I like the, the, blue one.”

Jack turned to her, relieved. “You like the blue one?”

She nodded. “I like the black one.”

“Wait, you like the black one? Or the blue one?” Jack held up each in turn, feeling absurd.

“I like the black one.” She placed a Dora the Explorer doll on top of the tower, which wobbled alarmingly, but didn’t fall.

“Really, you can’t go wrong!” Chowder exclaimed desperately.

“Well, thank you,” Jack sighed. “You’ve both been very helpful.” He was on his way back to his bedroom when he heard the doorbell ring. _Marde._ “Chowder, can you get that?” he called, scrambling to close the door behind him.

“NO, _I’M_ GONNA GET IT!” Evie shrieked. Jack could hear her little feet pounding toward the door, followed by Chowder hurrying after her, calling for her to wait for him. There was a crash and the sounds of a brief scuffle, then Jack could hear Chowder greeting Bitty and Bailey.

 _Black shirt it is_ , Jack thought, frantically pulling the shirt over his head. He took a moment to muss some product into his hair the way Ransom had showed him last time he’d been over (“You gotta get back _out_ there, bro!”) and threw on some cologne. His reflection in the mirror looked harried. There were dark circles under his eyes. “Okay,” he muttered, “this is as good as it’s gonna get.”

He made his way to the living room. The sight of what was waiting for him there stopped him cold.

Bitty was wearing skintight jeans, and shiny black boots that laced up past the knee. His black shirt was sleeveless, putting his arms and his tattoo on full display. He had done something to his hair to give his typical blond swoosh about twice the height it usually had. His cheekbones and browbones glowed with a soft golden shimmer, and his enormous eyes were artfully ringed with black liner. He was like some otherworldly creature that had softly alighted in Jack’s living room and was now offering to bake Chris Chow a pie. “I mean it, come on by anytime,” Bitty was saying. “Any friend of Evie’s is a friend of mine.”

Jack felt like he’d been punched in the chest. As someone who’d been playing hockey since he was five years old, Jack was very familiar with what it felt like to be punched in the chest. Usually it wasn’t this enjoyable.

Bitty saw him and smiled, the slow easy curve of his lips somehow made more sensuous by the light and the makeup and Bitty’s general endealment. Jack heard himself make the tiniest possible sound, deep in his throat.

“Jack!” Bitty said. “Well, don’t you clean up nice.”

“Euh, thanks,” Jack faltered.

Bailey pointed, indicating Evie’s _Cars_ T-shirt. “We have that movie at my house,” she bragged.

“What?” Bitty asked. “No we don’t.”

She wheeled on him. “Yes we _do!_ We _watched it!_ ”

“Oh. That was on Netflix, honey,” Bitty explained, rolling his eyes at Jack over Bailey’s head.

“Oh.” Bailey turned to Evie, apparently ready to put the whole _Cars_ affair behind her. “Let’s play veterinarian!”

Bitty sighed. “Bailey, remember to ask Evie what _she_ wants to do.”

“Do you...want to play veterinarian?” Bailey asked, nonplussed.

“OK!” Evie squealed. The two of them took off for Evie’s bedroom at top speed.

Jack realized he was just standing there gawking silently at Bitty. _Game face, Zimmermann_ , he told himself. They had a party to get to. “Should we get going?” he asked.

That set off a blessedly prosaic whirlwind of instructions for both girls’ bedtimes, emergency phone numbers, and _backup_ emergency phone numbers. Jack retreated into the shell of Jack Zimmermann, Single Dad, trying to put Jack Zimmermann, Lovestruck Weirdo out of his mind.

“BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE A POODLE!” Evie howled from down the hall.

“I’ll go,” Chowder said quickly, before either dad could move. “Have fun!” he called over his shoulder.

“Oh my God, _run_ ,” Bitty laughed, hustling Jack out the door.

On the cab ride over, Jack kept sneaking glances at Bitty’s profile; they were halfway to the bar before he realized Bitty was being quieter than usual. _Think of a conversation topic_.

“You, euh, you also look nice, by the way,” he mumbled, mortified he hadn’t returned Bitty’s compliment before now.

“Why thank you, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty said easily. “Lardo invited me to get ready with her and the girls, but it didn’t really work out with dropping Bailey off.” He laughed, a little ruefully. “I can’t even tell you the last time I went out _dancing_ , I was worried none of my old stuff would still fit.”

It fit him so well Jack couldn’t breathe. “Evie picked out my shirt,” he blurted out.

Bitty gave him another once-over. Jack felt frozen in place, aware of Bitty’s eyes on him. “Well, I’ll have to compliment Evie on her fashion sense.”

The bar was full of loud music. It was too early in the night for it to be too crowded, but the corner booths that Ransom and Holster had reserved (using Jack’s credit card) for the party were already hopping with people.

“BROOOOO!” clamored Ransom and Holster in unison when Jack and Bitty arrived.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Ransom added, handing Bitty one of the array of shot glasses set out on the table.

“...Everybody?” Holster followed up, holding one up with a questioning glance at Jack, who waved him off with a grin. He hadn’t done a shot since he was eighteen years old, he wasn’t about to pick it back up now.

“Cheeeeeerrrrs!” Ransom yelled, clinking glasses with Bitty. Jack was momentarily lost in the elegant lines of Bitty’s throat as he downed the liquor.

Holster slung an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Let’s. Fucking. Do this.”

An hour later, Jack was nestled into the back of the booth, about three-quarters of the way into his first beer of the evening. Shitty had already been asked to put his shirt back on once by the bar staff. Lardo’s sister Tiffany had rolled up with a wide array of penis-themed headbands and other accessories, which promptly got glitter everywhere. These had been soundly rejected by the bride-to-be; Holster and Ransom were wearing two headbands each, and kept putting a new one on Shitty every time his energetic dancing knocked it off.

A new song came on over the speakers. It wasn’t one Jack recognized, but half the party screeched in delight and ran for the dance floor. Jack spotted Bitty dancing with Lardo and some of her art-scene friends; he was covered in glitter and gleaming with sweat, his shirt plastered artfully to his lean body. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were sparkling. As Jack watched, Lardo said something into Bitty’s ear, and he flung his head back and shouted with laughter.

Not that Jack was watching Bitty, not exactly. It was just that somehow, whatever Jack did, wherever he looked, his eye was drawn helplessly back to him.

Holster flopped down into the booth next to him, out of breath and sweaty, clutching a fresh pint of beer. “Hey, man.”

“Hey.” Jack raised his own beer in a toast. “This party is going great.”

“Thanks, bro, it was a team effort and I was happy to do my part.” Holster took a long swig and fixed Jack with a speculative look. “So,” he said, “whatcha doin’ over here?”

“Just...watching the party. You know I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, no doubt. Because…” he looked Jack in the eye sternly. “It kind of looks like you’re sitting here in the corner, having a bisexual meltdown.”

Jack’s hands went cold. “What? No I’m - what does that even _mean?_ ”

“Trust me, dog, I lived with Ransom for years. For that matter, I lived with _you_ for years. I know a bisexual meltdown when I see one. You wanna talk about it?”

Before Jack could respond, Ransom slid into the booth on his other side. “Hey bros. What are we talking about?”

“Jack’s having a bisexual meltdown,” Holster informed him.

“I _am not!_ ” Jack hissed at Holster. “Stop saying that.”

“Oh, cool, OK. So...” Ransom started scanning the crowd, the hot pink penises on his headband bobbing gently as he did so. “Who’s the lucky fella?”

“ _Nobody._ ”

Ransom ignored him. “You don’t get this way about new people, so gotta be somebody you know...that we didn’t go to school with...someone _recent_ , but not new...OH! _Bitty_?”

Jack covered his face with his hands.

“Hey, man, I get it,” Ransom assured him. “Bitty’s _super_ stinkin’ cute. I’ve thought about going there myself a time or two.”

“Really?” Holster asked with interest.

“Oh yeah. Have you _heard_ his accent?”

“Why didn’t you go for it, bro?”

“Well, for one thing, he was married when I met him.”

Jack kept his face in his hands; maybe, if he held perfectly still, Ransom and Holster would forget he was still there. It had worked in college, sometimes.

Ransom nudged him in the ribs with an elbow. _No luck._ “You should go for it, dude! He’s great, and you already know he’s down with the whole ‘dad’ thing. Get yours!”

“That is...not something I know how to do,” Jack confessed, raising his head. Once again, his eye was drawn back to Bitty, who was now chatting animatedly with Lardo’s sister.

“You could start by getting out on the dance floor, instead of hiding in the corner,” Holster suggested.

“ _Also_ not something I know how to do.”

“COMING THROUGH!” Shitty was half-dancing, half-weaving his way toward them, looking like a one-man disco covered in the blinking lights of five different light-up penis necklaces. “Groom coming through, important serious groom business!” When he reached the table, he slammed a hand down onto it. “WHAT is happening here, my team? Whither the dancing? Wherefore the secret confab? Are there _deets_ I should be aware of?”

“Jack is _owwwwwwwww,_ ” Holster said, as Jack pinched his leg and twisted. “Not cool, bro, I bruise like a _peach_ and you _know that_!”

“We were just saying,” Ransom said over him, “that Jack should get out there and dance.”

“Jack should ABSOLUTELY get out there and dance!” Shitty slurred. “As your groom, I decree it to be so.”

“You heard the man,” Ransom said, starting to herd Jack out of the booth.

Shitty grabbed Jack’s arm and hauled him to his feet. “Jack Zimmermann, you get that world-class ass out on the floor _tout de suite, mon amour!_ ”

“ _Mon ami_ ,” Ransom corrected.

“I know what I said, and I stand by it.” Shitty draped an arm around Jack’s shoulders. Jack slid his arm around Shitty’s waist, supporting his weight as Shitty leaned heavily into him. “Hey,” Shitty said, his face dropping into an expression of total heartfelt sincerity. “Hey, listen.”

Earnest Shitty was Jack’s favorite incarnation of Drunk Shitty. “What’s up, bro?”

Shitty pulled Jack’s head down until his mustache was touching Jack’s ear. He smelled like booze and weed and patchouli. “You’re my best friend. I love being best friends with you.”

Jack leaned his head against Shitty’s. “Thanks, man. I love being best friends with you, too.”

Shitty was starting to tear up. “I just, I just want you to be _happy_ , you know?”

“I am happy,” Jack protested.

“Good. You _should_ be. You should just…” Shitty waved expansively, indicating the entire bar. “Go be happy.”

“OK, I’ll do that,” Jack said, stealing another tiny glance at Bitty, his heart clenching. “How about you, are you happy?”

“I’m so fucking happy, bro. Look at Lardo.” Lardo had spotted them from the dance floor. She waved. “That’s my wife! That’s my fucking _wife_ , man.”

Shitty plunged into the crowd, arm still wrapped around Jack’s neck. Jack had little choice but to allow himself to be dragged onto the dance floor.

~*~

It was a crying shame, Bitty reflected, that the older you got, the fewer opportunities you had for a dance party. He’d been a little worried he’d feel old, out of shape, or out of place, but it had only taken a few seconds of pulsing beat to remind his ass of exactly how good he used to be at shaking it.

Lardo’s sister was funneling a more or less constant stream of cash to the DJ, so the hits were coming hard and fast and closely tailored to Lardo’s tastes - heavy on the Beyoncé and the Lizzo and the Janelle Monáe. Bitty had hardly sat down in the last hour, and between the shot he’d done with Ransom and the brightly-colored, deadly little fruity concoction Lardo had pressed into his hands, he was feeling loose and sexy and confident, never mind his heavy boots and their total lack of arch support.

Periodically, when he wasn’t bumping hips with Lardo or shouting along to the music with Shitty or laughing at Holster and Ransom’s comical synchronized dance “routines,” he glanced back over to the corner booth. And every time, Jack was there, and every time, Jack’s eyes were on him, and Bitty didn’t know how to feel about that.

 _Having feelings from the corner_ was how Shitty and Lardo had described it. They’d also scrupulously avoided any mention of gender when it came to Jack’s previous infatuations. So was Jack actually having feelings? Or was he just in the corner because that’s where he liked to be? Had Jack’s tongue-tied reaction to Bitty’s club look been attraction, or was Jack just not sure how to react to a man in makeup and heels?

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he told himself, just like it didn’t matter that Jack’s simple black shirt emphasized the way his waist tapered down from his shoulders, or that Jack’s Wranglers, which ought to have given him a total “dorky dad” look, instead hung intriguingly from his hips and lovingly hugged his athletic thighs. Just like it didn’t matter that Jack was the first person in a good long while that Bitty had felt fully able to open up to. Because they were _friends_ , and that was important. _Besides, if Jack’s interested, he knows where to find me._

Of course, it was at that precise moment that Shitty appeared in their midst, dragging Jack behind him in an affectionate headlock.

“ _There’s_ my beautiful bride!” Lardo bellowed, allowing Shitty to scoop her off her feet entirely in a bear hug that quickly turned into a rather intense makeout session. Everyone in the little knot of dancers that made up their party suddenly found themselves searching for somewhere else to look.

Jack sidled up to Bitty, and the music was pumping loud, and Jack smelled _so good_ , and _fuck_ , it had been a long time since Bitty had gotten laid. “Hey.”

“Hey!” Bitty said, in a totally normal, casual, _we-are-friends_ way. “You having fun?”

“It’s not exactly my scene,” Jack shouted over the din.

“You wanna go get a drink?”

“God, yes.”

Maybe it was the drinks or the music or the general atmosphere of unbridled horniness, but Bitty reached out and grabbed Jack’s hand like it was the easiest thing in the world. “C’mon.”

He pulled Jack over to the bar, which was far enough away from the dance floor that it was somewhat easier to converse; it was also, at this point in the evening, surrounded by a crowd about three people deep, drinking, flirting, or waiting to be served. “What do you want?” Bitty asked.

“Just a beer.”

Using his small size to his advantage, Bitty was able to dip and dodge his way to the bar, returning to Jack’s side a couple of minutes later with a vodka tonic and a pint of Bud Light.

“Thanks,” Jack said. “I’m sorry, I should have offered to pay for that.”

“I put it on the party tab,” Bitty pointed out, smiling up into Jack’s warm blue eyes, “I’m pretty sure you just did.” He took a sip of his drink, not breaking eye contact. “So, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Jack’s smile was going to kill Bitty stone dead if Bitty wasn’t careful.

“I see you’ve managed to avoid all the dicks,” Bitty’s mouth said, about half a second before his brain realized what he was saying.

Jack blinked at him in startled confusion for a few seconds, during which time Bitty seriously considered walking out the door and directly into the harbor, before his face finally lit up with comprehension. “Oh! You mean the…” he gestured at his head. “Yeah, staying off the dance floor has its advantages.”

“Right,” Bitty breathed in relief. He took another long sip of his drink, hoping to hide his mortification behind the lime wedge.

“How about you? Are you...avoiding all the dicks?” Jack’s eyebrows were raised, innocent, but his mouth was smirking upward at the corners.

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Bitty groaned, and Jack burst out laughing. “I’m never saying anything to you again.”

“Sorry,” Jack laughed. “It was just right there, I had to.”

“ _Anyway_ …” Bitty rolled his eyes. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t dance much.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just...never learned how? I didn’t really go to high school dances or anything, I was too busy with hockey.”

“Jack Zimmermann, that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

As if on cue, “Just Dance” by Lady Gaga started blaring through the speakers. It was as though Gaga was speaking to him personally, which Bitty would not put past her, guardian angel of the dance floor that she was.

“Oh my God, I love this song.” Bitty drained the rest of his drink, setting it on a nearby table. “Come on, we’re going to go dance.”

Jack’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, euh…”

“It’s all right, it’s not gonna _hurt_ you.” He seized Jack’s hand again and started to pull him back toward the dance floor.

“Really,” Jack protested, “You don’t have to -”

“ _Jack_.” Bitty turned to him, preparing to deliver a mock-inspirational speech about Believing in Yourself and Just Let the Music Set You Free, but the words died on his lips.

Jack was shaking his head at him, smiling affectionately, but there was something in the cast of his eyes and the shape of his mouth that belied the teasing nature of their conversation, something vulnerable and tender.

Bitty drew a slow breath, in and out, caught in the intensity of Jack’s gaze. “Jack,” he said again, with the giddy, unreal feeling that he could ask Jack anything in that moment. “Come dance with me.”

He led Jack back to the small knot of dancers that comprised their party, hyper-aware of Jack’s warm, slightly sweaty palm against his. He dimly registered that their return was greeted with shouts - that Lardo draped herself over him in a boneless drunken hug - that Ransom and Holster plopped a glittery green penis headband onto Jack’s head at the earliest opportunity. Jack met Bitty’s eyes with a knowing grin, shaking his head as if to say _see_?

None of it seemed real, the noisy club fading away except for Jack’s lips parting in a slow, easy smile in the flashing light, the brush of Jack’s hand against Bitty’s hip, the swell of Jack’s bicep under Bitty’s palm, the small, surreptitious touches that might mean nothing but, Bitty was starting to think, might mean everything.

The cab on the way back to Jack’s place seemed muffled in quiet after the pounding bass of the club. Jack looked out the window, silent; Bitty knew him well enough by now to know he’d need to sit quietly for a while to recover from the party.

If Bitty had been ten years younger, he would already be trying to tuck his feelings about Jack into the little box where he kept all his secrets; if he’d been five years younger, he’d already be trying to climb Jack like a tree. But this was now, and even though he was in a cab with a gorgeous guy on the way back to his place, the air between them heavy with possibility and things unsaid, he was also on the way back to said gorgeous guy’s place to collect his daughter, who was probably sound asleep in her _Moana_ sleeping bag on Evie’s floor right now. Anything that happened between them - and Bitty was no longer in a position to deny that he did want something to happen between them - would have to take a backseat to that.

Chowder was watching sports highlights when they got up to Jack’s condo, a pile of homework spread out around him. “Hey! How was it?”

“Loud,” Jack said. He shot Bitty a small, private smile. “But fun.”

“How were the girls?” Bitty asked, since melting into a puddle was not currently an option.

Chowder beamed. “Great! We had some, um, small _disagreements_ about sharing, but overall they did great. We had a popcorn picnic.”

“A what, now?” Bitty laughed.

“Ohmigod, it’s so fun. You make a bunch of popcorn, and you put it in a bunch of little bowls, and then you put different stuff from the fridge on it and see what toppings you like best.”

“Evie loves it,” Jack murmured.

“So tonight we tried chocolate syrup, peanut butter, cheese, salsa, soy sauce, and peas. I thought nobody would like the peas, but Evie did! Oh, and I also, like, fed them actual dinner,” he added hastily. “They went down to sleep a couple hours ago. I only had to go back in there once. Well, twice, but the second time they were talking _really_ quietly, so, you know. Partial credit.”

“How’d the Sharks do?” Jack asked.

While Chowder was filling Jack in on the game, Bitty wandered into Jack’s living room, which looked like someone had taken a furniture showroom and scattered plastic toys all around it. He smiled at a picture of Evie in skates a tiny Falconers jersey, looking triumphant and terrified on the ice, Jack beaming with pride behind her. A few pictures of Evie with an older couple who could only be Jack’s parents, the man with Jack’s thick dark hair and square jaw, the woman with Jack’s blue eyes and startling beauty.

He saw the gaps because he knew to look for them: the places where a picture had been taken down and not replaced, or where a too-small frame had been hastily hung to fill an empty space that just seemed the larger for it. Wedding photos, engagement pictures, family outings - the photos that hung in another house now, or sat in a closet, too painful to look at but still too precious to discard. Bitty’d had almost three years to fill up those holes with images from his new life; Jack had had barely more than a year, and it showed. Was it foolishness, he asked himself, to even _try_ to fill that kind of space in a person’s life, let alone the lives of their children?

“Hey,” Jack said softly behind him.

“Hey.” Bitty turned to look at him. “Chowder take off?”

“Yeah.” Jack was looking at him with a quiet focus that sent a shiver through him, looking at him as though Bitty was something rare and wonderful that he’d never quite seen before. Bitty felt suddenly exposed, like Jack could somehow read his thoughts.

“I should go check on Bailey,” Bitty managed to say, his breath caught in his chest. “It’s late, I should be getting us both home.”

“If you’d rather not wake her up, you could stay here,” Jack said. “I mean...the guest room’s made up.”

 _You could stay here_. Bitty wanted to close his eyes against the onslaught of thoughts that brought out in him, thoughts of climbing into Jack’s bed, shucking their clothes, being naked and held and kissed. He felt the blood rising to his face. “I…” he started to say.

Jack was crossing the room toward him now, slowly, the distance between them closing like degrees, his eyes warm and soft and intent.

“I probably shouldn’t,” Bitty finished weakly, looking up into Jack’s face, close enough to touch now.

“OK.” Jack nodded. He reached out one hand and put it to Bitty’s cheek; Bitty did close his eyes then, leaning into Jack’s touch, feeling steadied by it even as the rest of the world seemed to be spinning out of control.

“Jack...I - I -” Bitty sighed, melting closer into him, putting one hand on Jack’s chest. “There’s so much we need to talk about.”

“I know,” Jack murmured. He bent down, drawing Bitty’s face up toward his, his lips the barest whisper against Bitty’s. “I know.”

Bitty tangled his fingers in the collar of Jack’s shirt and kissed him, really kissed him, slow and sweet, the way he’d pictured a hundred times in the last few months, Jack’s lips soft and searching against his, Jack’s hands sliding comfortingly down his back. Bitty reached up to wrap his arms around Jack’s neck, stretching up to press the length of his body against Jack’s; Jack made a low gasping sound and pulled him closer, one strong hand coming up to cup the back of Bitty’s head, angling his chin to slide his tongue along Bitty’s parted lips.

His legs weak, his stomach swooning, Bitty let himself relax into Jack’s arms. It felt like coming home. He thought again about following Jack to the back of the condo, climbing up into whatever gigantic rich-person bed Jack no doubt slept in, giving themselves over to the sensation of love; regretfully, he put that fantasy aside. He wasn’t going to have sex with Jack right down the hall from where their sleeping children lay, not without having a long conversation about what was happening between them and how it affected the girls.

“Jack,” he whispered, barely able to stop kissing Jack long enough to get the words out. “Honey.”

“Yes,” Jack mumbled, burying his face in Bitty’s neck. “Yes.”

“Jack, this is - “ Jack was brushing the tiniest of kisses up Bitty’s throat. He swallowed. _I hate being a grown-up_. “This is _so_ nice,” he breathed. “But we have to stop.”

Jack left off kissing Bitty’s neck, but left his head leaning on Bitty’s shoulder. He took a deep breath, sighing, “Yeah. You’re probably right.” He straightened up a bit, resting his forehead against Bitty’s.

“Don’t get me wrong, I would _love_ to...not stop,” Bitty assured him. “But…”

“Yeah.”

Already kicking himself inwardly, Bitty took a step back, running a hand through his hair.

Jack cleared his throat. “Euh...to be clear, I really was just offering you the guest room. If you want to stay over.” His lips were swollen and a little red, his hair disheveled; Bitty folded his arms across his chest to keep from reaching out to kiss him again. “I know,” Jack added, “we...have some stuff to figure out. But you don’t have to wake Bailey up and cart her home. You should stay. And tomorrow we can all have breakfast. And then...maybe we could talk.”

He really did have the sweetest smile. Bitty returned it with one of his own. “Okay.”

~*~

“OK. This is NOT A DRILL, people. I am getting married in T-minus…” Shitty looked at his watch. “25 minutes. Jack, you have the rings, right?”

Jack patted his pocket. “Still yes.”

“Ransom, Holster, how we looking out there? Good crowd?”

Holster stepped down off of the chair he was standing on to peer out of the transom window above the door to the dressing room they were waiting in. “Excellent crowd, bro. _Top drawer!_ ” he added, in an exaggerated fake British accent.

“ _Good show,_ ” Ransom replied, adjusting an imaginary monocle.

“I _say_ , old bean, you wouldn’t happen to have anything left in that absolutely _topping_ little flask, would you?” Holster asked, sidling up to Ransom. The two of them had been discreetly sipping bourbon throughout the afternoon, slipping the occasional swig to Shitty whenever his energy level started to go from “boisterous” to “anxiety.” “I’m not trying to get anybody drunk,” Holster had explained when he’d first produced the flask. “I’m just trying to get _pacified._ ”

Shitty checked his tie in the mirror again, then began pacing around the room. “I hate this. I hate _waiting_. I just want to go get married. What am I supposed to do for the next…” He looked at his watch again and groaned. “24 minutes?”

“Well,” Ransom said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Jack, “we could spend that time getting the _deets_.”

“Deets? What deets? There are deets?” Shitty’s head shot up like a prairie dog’s.

“I don’t know, _Jack_ ,” Ransom asked, “are there deets?”

Jack shook his head at him, smiling. He wasn’t about to tell Ransom about kissing Bitty last Saturday. It was none of his business, and anyway, they weren’t ready to tell people about them yet.

If someone had told him that he was going to spend the week before Shitty’s wedding having long conversations, on the _phone_ no less, and enjoying them, Jack would have thought they were joking. Talking to Bitty on the phone didn’t seem like an awkward chore, though, the way it did with everyone else, even his parents. It was easy, the time passing like it was nothing, the conversation unfolding with an ease and comfort Jack rarely felt off of the ice.

They hadn’t had a chance to be alone together since the night of the bachelor/ette party, but Jack’s thoughts were increasingly occupied with what might happen the next time they were. He knew they’d have to take it slow, for their daughters’ sake; neither of them wanted to introduce the idea of romance to their kids until they were sure it was really going somewhere, and both of them wanted their respective co-parents’ blessing before they told the girls anything. Jack knew that was smart, and the right thing to do, not to mention the best way to keep from getting a very angry phone call from one Camilla Collins-Zimmermann. He also knew, down in his bones, that all of that was just a question of _when_ , not _if_.

“Jack?” Shitty was saying. “Do you have something to share with the class?”

Jack shook his head.

“It’s a lost cause, brosephs,” Holster opined, knocking back another swig of bourbon. “Jack’s never given up a deet in his life. Remember when he was completely _obsessed_ with Camilla for _months_ and kept just referring to her as his ‘lab partner?’”

“I do remember that,” Ransom admitted.

“I’m gonna go get Lardo,” Shitty announced, marching for the door, “and she’ll _make_ you tell her. Nobody’s allowed to refuse the bride on her wedding day. Finally, traditional gender roles will be of use to me.”

Shitty swung open the door, revealing an apologetic-looking Chowder, who had graciously agreed to wrangle Evie before the ceremony (and potentially during, if she decided this whole flower girl thing wasn’t for her). He had one hand raised to knock; the other was firmly gripping a gathering storm cunningly disguised as an adorable 3-year-old moppet. “Um, Jack?” he said, peering uncertainly into the room. “I’m sorry to bother you, but…”

“I have to go _potty_ , Daddy,” Evie glowered.

Jack knelt in front of his daughter, noting the goldfish cracker crumbs caught in the tulle skirt of her flower girl dress. “Can’t Chowder take you, buddy? He took you earlier and that was OK.”

“I have to go POOP,” she declared. “I want you to take me, I don’t _want_ Chowder to take me.”

Behind him, Jack could hear Holster and Ransom’s stifled laughter. He looked at his watch and sighed. “Okay, but let’s try to be quick.”

 _Sorry_ , Chowder mouthed to him as he hustled Evie toward the bathroom, but he couldn’t really blame the guy. Evie had gotten pretty comfortable peeing in public restrooms, but a bowel movement was another story, and Jack wasn’t about to tempt the Potty Training Gods on Shitty’s wedding day.

20 minutes later, Jack and Evie finally emerged from the men’s room, where Jack had started to feel like he’d lived for his entire life, and almost ran smack into Bitty, who was chatting with Chowder in the hallway. Bailey was rummaging around in her fluffy kitty purse, which, Jack had to admit, actually went pretty well with her white lace dress.

“Well hello there, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty said. He gave Jack a quick, subtle, up-and-down assessment. “Don’t _you_ look nice.” There was a flirtatious energy to both the words and the look that caused a wave of heat to well up in Jack’s stomach; he was glad their only adult witness was Chowder, who was preoccupied wrangling Bailey and Evie (“Evie, honey, I know you like to take your shoes off, but let’s leave them on until after you do your flower girl walk, OK?”).

“I...thanks,” Jack mumbled, sinking into the deep mahogany wells of Bitty’s eyes. “You look nice, too.”

Bitty grinned up at him. “I’m gonna go check and make sure the cake is set out properly, real quick. I think it’s about time for _you_ all,” he gestured to indicate Jack and the girls, who were now engaged in a contest to see who could get their dress to make the biggest circle when they twirled around, “to get lined up.”

Jack and Chowder ushered the girls to the staging area where the bridal party was lining up.

“Hey, there you are!” Lardo exclaimed. “We were just about to send out a search party.”

He stopped in his tracks and just stared at her for a minute. Her dress was simple white satin, no lace, no embellishments, just softly draped against the gentle curves of her body. Her skin shone golden against the white of her dress, the colors in her sleeve tattoos seeming all the more vibrant in contrast. She had a big white flower fastened behind one ear on the closely-buzzed side of her hair; the longer side fell smooth and crisp to her chin. She was wearing makeup, which Lardo hardly ever did, but not enough to make her look like someone else, just enough to accentuate her dark eyes and her smiling mouth.

“Dude,” she said, “are you _crying?_ ”

Jack touched the corners of his eyes. He thought about the militant, scowling girl who had herded an entire team of rowdy emotional jocks around the northeast for four years. He thought about the afternoons spent together, hardly talking at all, just taking pictures or reading or hanging out. He thought about Lardo walking a tiny, squalling Evie around their living room while he and Camilla gratefully shoveled down a meal, about gripping Lardo’s hands and sobbing the night Camilla left. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”

She gave him her fiercest _don’t fuck with me_ face. “Well _stop it_. You’re gonna make me cry, and I’m _not_ crying right now.”

“You look really pretty, Aunt Lardo,” Bailey said. Evie nodded, a hand crammed in her mouth.

“Thanks, pal! You look really pretty, too, you both do. Do you like your dresses?”

“Yeah,” the girls chorused.

“I’m so glad.”

Shitty wandered up, sliding his arms around Lardo’s waist. “You all about ready to do this thing?”

Jack nodded, still too overcome to speak.

“I’m about to marry the hell out of you, Duan.”

Lardo leaned up to kiss him. “Me too. I’m gonna marry you so friggin’ hard.”

“Girls! There you are!” Mrs. Knight bustled up, holding twin baskets of flower petals. “Don’t you both look so _sweet!_ ” she squealed. “Oh, Bailey, wouldn’t you rather leave your purse back here until after the ceremony?”

Bailey placed a protective hand over her fluffy purse. “My dad _said_ I could wear it.”

“Oh, but sweetheart, don’t you think -”

“Mom.” Shitty put a gentle hand on her back. “It’s fine. Really.”

She straightened, turning to him, flustered. “I just want everything -”

“I know.” Shitty put his arms around her and squeezed. Jack felt his heart squeeze, too. “I love you,” Shitty murmured. “Thanks.”

“I love you,” she whispered back. She pulled away, and Jack saw her surreptitiously dab at her eyes with a convenient handkerchief. “Well! Are we all ready?”

The next thing he knew, Jack was walking down the aisle, arms linked with Tiffany Duan, who was over a foot shorter than him, and feeling foolish about the whole thing. Then Bailey and Evie were making their way down the aisle. Bailey paused every few feet to dramatically fling a handful of flower petals, often directly into the face of an audience member. Evie proceeded down the aisle at a determined march, gazing straight ahead; about ¾ of the way down, she seemed to remember her basket of flower petals. She stopped, rummaging around in her basket with interest, then ran the rest of the way to Jack, clutching a fistful of petals. “I have some flowers, Daddy!” she exclaimed.

Jack bent to hug her. “I see that, sweetheart. You did a good job. Do you want to go sit with Chowder, now?”

She shook her head. “I wanna stay with you.”

“All right, but we need to be really quiet and watch the ceremony, OK?” He lifted her up, settling her onto one hip, and she laid her head on his shoulder. He engaged his core with a sigh. At least if he had to skip a workout to attend Shitty’s wedding, he could get some isometric exercise by holding a 35-pound weight for 20 minutes.

He watched Lardo float down the aisle, clearly tearing up a little despite her resolve not to do so; he used his free hand to slip Shitty a steady stream of tissues after the groom almost immediately began ugly-crying. He smiled as Ransom nervously read a Pablo Neruda poem, and dabbed at his own tears as Lardo and Shitty said their vows.

“I feel like I didn’t really know how to be a person until I met you,” Shitty was saying. Jack realized with amazement that this whole _wedding_ thing wasn’t hurting him at all; the ball of pain that he’d felt in his chest when contemplating his own wedding, the loss of what had once been the great hope of his life, was healing into a sort of wistful nostalgia for things past - sad, yes, but not as painful as it once was.

“When I think about the future with you, I get so excited for everything we get to do together,” Lardo said, and without really intending to, Jack found Bitty in the audience. His soft brown eyes were brimming with emotion; his face was glowing with pride and love. He saw Jack looking at him, and grinned, swiping at his eyes with a handkerchief (an actual _cloth handkerchief_ , how cute was that?). Jack knew that anyone who was looking at him in that moment would see the entire story of his feelings for Bitty in the besotted grin shining out of his own face, but he didn’t care.

Lardo was promising to take some guy as her lawfully wedded husband, and Jack blinked for a minute before remembering that Shitty’s real first name wasn’t _Shitty_. Based on the surprised little chuckle that made its way through the crowd, he wasn’t the only one who’d been startled. Shitty winked broadly and made a finger-guns gesture at the audience before saying his own _I do_.

“I now pronounce you married,” the officiant intoned. Shitty swept Lardo into a dramatic dip and kissed her thoroughly, to the sound of hoots and wolf whistles from the crowd.  
Jack sailed back down the aisle, heart full, shoulders only just beginning to ache with Evie’s weight, towing Lardo’s sister in his wake.

Back by the dressing rooms, Jack finally sat Evie down with a sigh of relief, moments before being pulled into a crushing Shitty hug. “I love you, bro,” Shitty sobbed damply into Jack’s lapel. “I love you so fucking much.”

Jack hugged him back. “I love you too, bro. I’m so happy for you.”

Shitty pulled back, gave a giant _sniff_ , and laughed, palming the tears from his cheeks. “And you, Eviesaurus,” he added, crouching down, “were a magnificent flower girl. Ten out of ten, would flower girl again.” He held out a hand to her. “Are you ready to _party_?”

“ _Yeah!_ ” Evie squealed.

“All right.” Shitty straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Let’s party.”

~*~

Bitty wound up at a table with a bunch of Lardo’s art school friends. Most of them were people he knew at least slightly, from when they used to hang around the bakery back when he and Lardo worked there together. They were a good group - Ahmed announced that they were “totally the fun table,” and they might have had a shot at that title at a wedding without Ransom and Holster in attendance - but Bitty found it hard to focus on the conversation.

Jack and Evie were seated at the big table at the front, with the rest of the wedding party. Bitty kept trying to catch Jack’s eye, but every time he looked over there, Jack was helping Evie eat, or talking to someone, or otherwise not looking Bitty’s way. Bitty sighed, swirling his wine in its glass.

At least the cakes had all turned out beautifully. The almond-apricot sat in splendor on its stand, adorned with a cascade of brightly-colored nasturtiums (a inside-joke reference to how Lardo and Shitty used to get high and wander around the park, picking and eating the edible flowers). The cupcakes were arrayed haphazardly around it, to encourage people to grab them - Bitty had learned that people were hesitant to mess up the rows if cupcakes were lined up too neatly.

Praise to the Holy Mother Tina Knowles for Lardo’s mom, as well - she’d put together activity bags for Bailey and Evie to amuse themselves with after the ceremony, and Bailey was now busily coloring between bites of her chicken tenders.

Bitty stifled another lovesick sigh. The _look_ Jack had given him during the ceremony still had him lit up like Christmas. All Bitty wanted to do right now was march up to that big table at the front, grab Jack by the collar, and haul him off for several hours of serious Alone Time. Too bad they were at their closest friends’ beautiful wedding, accompanied by their respective beloved children, instead.

Lardo’s sister Tiffany gave a heartfelt toast that had everyone in the room crying; Holster followed up with a rambling speech that incorporated a bunch of inside jokes that nobody understood, visibly breaking a sweat as joke after joke went by with nobody laughing. Bitty raised a glass of champagne to the happy couple, and for the first time since the reception started, Jack made eye contact with him. Bitty lifted his glass again, a private toast just for the two of them. Jack flushed, but discreetly raised his glass to toast back.

 _Finally_ , the dinner dishes were cleared, Shitty and Lardo cut the cake without a hitch (“if you smash cake in my face I will divorce you on the spot,” Lardo had warned, and the two of them very sweetly fed each other small bites of cake instead), and the dancing started.

“You wanna dance, Bailey-bug? Or do you want to keep coloring?”

She cocked her head, considering. “I’ll come dance with you.”

Bitty knew he shouldn’t expect to see Jack out on the dance floor. He really wanted to talk to Jack, but Bitty also knew that it was hard to get the dance party going at a wedding reception - most people needed at least one more glass of wine before they could get out on the floor - and Bitty took his role as “early dancer” very seriously.

He and Bailey danced to “Beyond the Sea,” Bailey standing on Bitty’s feet as he swirled her around; they shook their booties to “Celebration” and twisted to “Twist and Shout.” At some point, Evie came hop-skipping out to Bailey on the dance floor, her white dress flapping like a butterfly’s wings, and the two resumed their earlier twirl-fest. Bitty was momentarily concerned that they were going to knock over the other dancers, but everyone was looking at them with big gooey _so cute_ eyes, the occasional hand over a heart, so he knew they were good.

After coaching the girls through the intricacies of “a little bit softer now” and “a little bit louder now,” Bitty was getting warm; he shed his blazer and decided it was time for a cake break. He snagged one of each flavor of cupcake and found a seat near the edge of the dance floor, where he could keep a close eye on Bailey. He’d completely lost track of Jack, but assumed he was off somewhere doing best-man things, or possibly just hiding in a corner again.

Jack sauntered up and took the seat next to him. “Hey.”

 _Speak the devil’s name and he appears_ , Bitty thought, hoping he didn’t have frosting on his face. “Hey!”

“Looks like the kids are having fun.” Bailey and Evie were now getting down in a circle with Shitty, Lardo, and Ransom.

“Yeah! Bailey’s always been a dancing fool, I guess she gets that from me.”

“I don’t know where Evie gets it, neither her mom or I are big on dancing.” Jack watched her jumping up and down, his eyes full of love.

“I think she’s just born to be a _star_ ,” Bitty said. “Some people just are.”

Jack looked at him then, his smile gentle and pleased. “I like that.”

Bitty searched for something to say that wasn’t ridiculous. “Did you try the cake yet?”

“Not yet, it looks amazing, though.”

Bitty held out his as-yet-untouched banana chocolate cupcake; he’d been saving it for Bailey, but he could always just snag her another one (not to mention that he’d made a few extra, which were waiting for them at home, just in case). “Want a bite?”

Jack let his fingers linger against Bitty’s as he took the cupcake. “Thanks.” He bit into it, his eyes widening a bit and then drifting closed as he chewed, a blissful look coming over his face, eyelashes thick and dark against his pale skin. “Mmm,” he groaned. It was completely obscene; Bitty had to look away before he embarrassed himself by, for example, climbing into Jack’s lap to lick the last remnants of chocolate frosting off of his lower lip. Just for example.

“Bitty,” Jack said, swallowing. “That is maybe the best cake I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bitty said, ducking his head.

“You’re a genius.” Jack put a hand on his shoulder, the warmth traveling through Bitty’s chest. Had he been warm before? That was nothing. He felt like a choir of angels were singing. A moment later, the beat and the piano kicked in, and he realized just the one angel was singing - the DJ had put on Beyoncé’s “Halo.” Couples were drawing close to each other. He saw Shitty enfold Lardo into his arms, dropping a kiss onto her bare shoulder.

“I love this song,” Bitty murmured.

Jack stood up. He held out one strong, callused hand. “Come dance with me,” he said.

 _I found a way to let you in_ , Beyoncé was singing, _but I never really had a doubt…_

“Don’t forget, I’m not very good at this,” Jack warned. He pulled Bitty close, one hand at the small of his back; with the other, he clasped Bitty’s hand and brought it up to his chest, a sweet, old-fashioned slow dance posture.

Bitty smiled up at him. “I think you’re doing just fine.” He slid his arm around Jack’s waist, underneath his suit jacket. Hardly believing he was daring to do it, he rested his cheek against Jack’s chest, breathing him in.

Bitty floated in Jack’s arms, his gaze idly traveling over the people around him. Bailey was leading Evie, Ransom, and Holster in some sort of interpretive dance. Ransom caught sight of Bitty and Jack dancing and turned to poke Holster in the ribs; Holster, seeing them, rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet to hand Ransom 20 bucks. Shitty and Lardo were completely oblivious to the world around them, swaying together, Shitty’s cheek pressed to Lardo’s hair. Even Shitty’s parents seemed to have relaxed a bit; as he watched, Mr. Knight leaned over to whisper something in his wife’s ear, and she threw her head back and laughed, swatting at him flirtatiously.

Jack’s chest was warm and solid. His arms held Bitty tight. Faintly, Bitty could feel Jack’s heart beating, strong and sure.

 _I swore I’d never fall again,_ Beyoncé sang, _but this don’t even feel like falling._

EPILOGUE - ONE YEAR LATER

A new house, with new walls, and no empty spaces left by someone leaving.

A house big enough for each kid to have her own bedroom - the custody arrangements didn’t always work out perfectly for them to have both girls at the same time, but when they did, they wanted to make sure everyone had their own space. Learning to be sisters was harder than learning to be friends, after all.

Walls covered with pictures of Jack and Evie, and of Bailey and Bitty, and, increasingly, of the four of them: lounging on a picnic blanket, laughing at a skating rink, smiling proudly over a batch of misshapen cookies.

That afternoon, Bailey was nose-deep in a new _Ivy & Bean_ book; Evie was coloring in the _Avengers_ comic book Holster had gotten her.

“Hey girls?” Jack asked. He had his arm stretched out along the back of the couch, his long legs propped up on the ottoman in front of him. Bitty was snuggled up next to him, idly paging through a new issue of _Bon Appetit_ , but when Jack started speaking, Bitty put the magazine down and sat up.

Neither of the girls looked up from their activities. Evie made a half-hearted “Hmm?” sound.

“Hey,” Jack tried again. He put his hands around his mouth, making a makeshift megaphone. “Girls. Earth to Bailey and Evie.”

Bitty snorted. “You’re such a _dad_ ,” he muttered to Jack under his breath.

“What?” Bailey asked. She set her book down, but kept a finger in it to mark her spot.

“So…” Jack took a breath. “You two liked being flower girls before, right? At S and Lardo’s wedding?”

Bailey shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I liked the cake,” Evie put down a purple crayon and picked up a green one. “And I liked my dress.”

“Rachel at school has a dress with Rapunzel from Tangled on it,” Bailey said.

“We’re getting off track,” Bitty said quickly, before either kid could demand a Rapunzel dress.

“Right.” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Euh...how would you two like to be flower girls again?”

“Oh! Is...Aunt Lardo is getting married again?” Evie asked, puzzled.

“No, dummy, she can’t get married again, she already _has_ a husband,” Bailey pointed out with a world-weary air.

Evie’s face crumpled. “I’m NOT a dummy!” she cried. She ran to Jack, wailing. “DADDDYYYYYY.”

“ _Bailey Jade_.” Bitty had his most Serious Dad voice on now. “That is _not_ how we talk to people in this house. That was an unkind thing to say. Do you want to try again, and make a different choice?”

“Sorry, Evie,” Bailey muttered.

Evie had taken refuge in her father’s lap. A few kisses and cuddles and a quick rendition of “You Are My Sunshine” later, and she returned to her crayons, sniffling a little but otherwise none the worse for wear.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Jack said, a twinge of desperation coming into his voice. “Would you two be interested in being flower girls at another wedding?”

“Whose wedding?” Bailey asked.

Jack glanced sideways at Bitty, who slid a hand into his encouragingly. “Well...ours,” Bitty said, a smile lighting his face.

Both of the girls stared at them. Bailey’s mouth was a perfect little _o_ of astonishment. Evie furrowed her brow slightly.

“You see,” Jack explained. “Bitty asked me to marry him.” He gave Bitty’s hand a little squeeze. “And I said yes.”

Evie picked up an orange crayon and started coloring again. “You should say, ‘yes _please_ , Daddy.”

“Oh,” Jack replied, in the serious voice he used when he was trying very hard not to laugh. He turned to Bitty, who beamed up at him, eyes dancing with laughter. “Yes, _please_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. I had so much fun picturing Jack and Bitty as parents, and thinking of how the gang might have evolved in their late 20s/early 30s, and may or may not have made myself cry several times because I always cry at weddings, even (apparently) fictional ones of my own creation. Thanks to Mel and Laurens for their amazing beta work, to my own toddler who was very much the inspiration for Evie, to the OMGCPRB Discord for all the encouragement, and to 4redraws for the beautiful art.


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